


Boy, We're Gold

by dontyoudarestiles, pineapplebreads



Series: Picture Book [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Nonmagical, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Infidelity (not between Credence and Graves), Lingerie, M/M, Possessive Graves, Soft Credence, consensual feminization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-10-31 12:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10899039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontyoudarestiles/pseuds/dontyoudarestiles, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineapplebreads/pseuds/pineapplebreads
Summary: When Credence Barebone asks Tina Graves out on a date, he doesn't expect to fall in love with her father instead.





	1. Chapter 1

Credence asks her out because of her smile.

He usually avoids girls in school. They are gorgeous, lovely creatures with flowy hair and beautiful eyes and pretty clothing, and they’re everything he isn’t. He isn't sure what to think of girls for the most part. He's only ever watched them with passing glances of envy that he is immediately ashamed of, something he barely understands. 

Envy is a sin, he reminds himself and the voice in his mind sounds frightfully like Ma. But he doesn't need to think of sins and brimstone and fire and damnation anymore. Ma is gone and Credence is free.

Girls aren't usually very kind to him anyways. He knows the difference between how they look at him versus how they look at the bigger boys with broad shoulders and loud voices. They barely glance at skinny, awkward Credence with two left feet and too much gentleness. They scoff at his soft voice and laugh at his old clothes.

But Tina is kind. That is the only way to describe her. She passes him pencils under the desk when he forgets his at home, smiles brightly at him in the hallway whenever they pass by each other, asks him for help in Literature when she can’t figure out a question.

And one day her smile is not so bright, not so happy, eyes puffed and red-rimmed from crying, nose swollen and flushed with misery, and he passes her a tissue discreetly and asks if she’d like to go for ice cream after class. He can barely believe he did it, a well of courage seeping up and spilling out of his mouth.

Tina gives a little snuffle, looks up at him with glossy eyes, and says in a small croak, “That’d be nice.”

She never does talk about what made her so upset, but the next week, he is holding her soft hand in his and carrying her books and she’s stolen his first kiss with her soft mouth under the cherry tree at the park across from the school. Credence does everything she asks, kisses her soft downy cheek when they have to part for electives, sits quietly at her side at her table of friends who all nudge each other and smirk whenever they’re around. And he thinks to himself, _this is nicer than I thought it’d be._

…

He meets her father near the end of October.

His name is Percival Graves and he’s the most handsome man Credence has ever met. Wide shouldered, with thick dark hair and a low brow and lovely eyes that make Credence’s spine shiver in a way Tina’s never have. And he sneers at Credence with such hatred that it makes Credence flinch.

Mr. Graves has been working on something in his spacey two-door garage when Tina brings Credence home. Mr. Graves is wiping his oil-smudged hands clean on a rag, and so Credence doesn’t take offence when the man doesn’t offer his hand to shake. He only lifts an eyebrow and says, “So you’re the boy who’s trying to steal my daughter away,” around a smile so tense it could shatter bone.

“O-oh, no sir. No stealing,” stammers Credence as Tina glares at her father viciously.

“Dad,” she says sternly. “Play nice.” She clings to his arm, squeezing his skinny bicep between her soft breasts and Credence only feels vaguely nauseous.

“You know me, princess. I’m always nice.” Mr. Graves softens as he looks at his daughter, and something in Credence’s rib cage that he has been working very hard to ignore, ever since he saw Theseus Scamander nude in the showers freshmen year, judders to life in his chest and makes it hard to breathe.

“Don’t call me that,” hisses Tina, a silent fury making her eyes darken. “It’s fucking sexist and I hate it.”

He ignores Tina’s fury as he rolls his eyes, softness fading as he tells her, “Fine. Just be sure to leave the door open, _Tina_.”

Tina’s face twists furiously with embarrassment and she smacks at her father’s arm as they pass, and Credence feels his shoulders hunch when he feels the man’s heavy gaze between them. He thinks to himself, _I’m going to die._

It becomes a bit of a tradition, Credence following Tina home, despite Mr. Graves’ cold looks and raised eyebrow and skeptical, snide little comments about high school romance. He’s not usually home early, though they all have dinner together on Fridays, Credence trying to be as quiet and polite as possible while Tina snips back at her father. But the food is always extremely good, much better than the cold school lunches Credence buys with what little money his foster parents are able to spare and the microwave frozen meals he gets at home.

“So, Barebone,” says Mr. Graves one night, a smirk curling his mouth so handsomely Credence’s mouth goes dry. “What are you planning to do after school?”

Credence swallows hard and fiddles with his cloth napkin. Before the Graveses, Credence has never used a cloth napkin before. It feels like a luxury.

“I’d like to be a social worker, sir,” he says softly, looking up shyly through his lashes. He tries to ignore the way his heart rate picks up speed when Mr. Graves looks back at him with that bold gaze, that square jaw. All of it.

The man coughs and sips his beer after a moment, and Tina smiles brightly, eyes fluttering at her father. “Isn’t that nice, Dad?”

Mr. Graves chews on the inside of his cheek consideringly. “Not a lot of money in the field,” he says finally, and Credence shouldn’t be surprised by this. He’s seen several law degrees framed and proudly displayed on the walls. The big wide house and the absolutely gorgeous garden and huge pool just scream upper middle class.

“Dad!” Tina looks offended, but Credence just smiles.

“It’s alright,” he says politely. “And Mr. Graves is right. It’s, um. It’s not the most well paid job in the world. But I’ve known a lot of social workers, and they’ve kind of inspired me, you know? To—to help. As much as I can. Like they helped me….” And then, in the wake of Tina’s proud look and Mr. Graves’ surprised, impressed expression, Credence goes silent, feeling he’s spoken too much and embarrassed himself in front of Mr. Graves.

To redeem himself, Credence helps clean up after dinner, picking up Tina’s plate, and her father shifts, uncomfortable. “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” he says gruffly, but Credence just gives a little shrug and Tina smirks at her dad, as if to say, _‘See? Haven’t I found a good one?’_

Tina follows him into the kitchen, nearly skipping in smug giddiness, her skirt swishing around her thighs. “Good job!” she whispers into his ear, giggling as she passes him dirty glasses to scrub. “He can’t complain about you at all!”

“I’m sure he’ll find something to criticize,” Credence whispers back, elbow deep in suds and porcelain plates. Tina huffs, rolling her eyes.

“You’re right, but I won’t listen,” she says mischievously, nipping at the lobe of his ear playfully, and Credence hides his shiver of discomfort by splashing at her with dishwater, laughing brightly at her shriek of indignation. It devolves into a bit of a water fight, his perfectly respectable white shirt soaked down the front, his hair curling with soapy water. Tina is a bit better off, her legs getting the worst of the spray.

“Well,” says Mr. Graves from the doorway but he looks amused underneath his sternness, a grin curving the line of his mouth.

Credence looks at the man's smile and feels a flock of wings swarming his belly, his heart swelling as those dark eyes catch on him and slide down his front, his white shirt clingy and translucent. He feels exposed and on display, his nipples peaking through the sheer fabric, his mouth numb, laid out like an overripe berry full and heavy, asking to be picked.

“Just a bit of harmless fun,” says Tina and her happy laugh bursts through the spell Credence has been floating in. He drops his head and feels his skin glow hotly pink.

“Hm, well the floor would disagree,” says Mr. Graves and Credence makes a soft little noise of distress, tiny and sad.

“I'm so sorry!” says Credence mournfully as he stares down at the drenched floor and he grabs for the paper towels on the counter, immediately sliding onto his knees to pat the floor dry.

“No, Credence!” laughs Tina, reaching down. “You're a guest!”

“I made a mess,” argues Credence. His foster mother would be ashamed of him and his awful behavior. Ma would’ve whipped him bloody for even thinking of doing such a thing in another man’s home. “I should clean it up.”

“Well, I helped make the mess.” Tina’s smile is too wide as she giggles breathlessly. She reaches out to steady herself on the damp countertop, eyes tearing from laughter but she makes no move to grab more towels.   

“It’s alright, Tina. Let the boy help.”

Credence looks up to see Mr. Graves lazily watching him with crossed arms, biceps thick and impressive even under his shirt, those depthless eyes trailing over him. He becomes frightfully aware of his place on the ground, knees aching already from kneeling on the dark hardwood floor. He blushes again, eyelashes dipping down to look at the water soaking his jeans and he wipes at the floor until those shined, polished shoes click away and back into the dining room.

“See?” Tina smirks. “I knew he’d like you.”

Credence looks up at her skeptically, but regardless of his incredulity, it seems Tina’s words have a grain of truth. Mr. Graves relaxes slightly after that night, and Credence finds himself welcome in the Graves home even when Tina has chess team meetings or softball practice.

Mr. Graves is never going to truly like him, Credence thinks to himself as he washes dishes after dinner and cleans Tina’s messy, paper laden desk. He can never quite look straight at Credence, as though he can't stand the sight of him but the man can tolerate him with occasional snide comments that gradually become less barbed as time goes on. That’s all Credence can really ask for, even as he finds himself thinking more and more of Mr. Graves, and less and less of his daughter.

…

Queenie Goldstein is the most beautiful girl Credence has ever seen, and perhaps it is a bad omen that he thinks Tina’s best friend, near sister, is even more attractive than his girlfriend without guilt or shame. But even worse is that whenever Credence sees Queenie wearing her favorite pink miniskirt, he doesn’t feel a welling of heat or evil burning lust at the sight of her white thighs and shapely legs. Instead, he feels a pang of vicious envy that makes his heart seize with panic.

“Hello!” she chirps as she plops down at their lunch table, eyes glinting happily. Jacob Kowalski nearly chokes on his pastry in surprise.

“Hi, Queenie,” says Credence shyly as she smacks a kiss to first his, and then Tina’s cheek.

“Wow, you lot are dreary today,” Queenie says, excitement making her voice chirrup. “You should be excited! There’s a big game today, you know. We have to show team spirit, now don’t we?” Her outfit matches the school colors, maroon and navy and gold, her mouth glossed a gleaming wine, her eyelids a pop of pretty gold whenever she blinks.

Tina nods eagerly, a huge football enthusiast courtesy of her father. “Oh, yes,” she hisses as she violently squeezes a packet of ketchup over her curly fries in a wet splat. “We’re going to _crush them!”_

Queenie laughs uneasily and Credence hides his smile behind his palm. “Oh… yes, well. Are you coming today, Cree?”

Credence nibbles on a rather dry bagel and lifts one shoulder in an apathetic shrug. “I suppose, if Tina’s going.” Tina rewards this with a chaste peck to his lips and Credence acquiesces to it before washing away the uncomfortable turn in his belly with a sip of chocolate milk.

“How supportive,” says Queenie drolly, but her eyes sparkle mischievously in a way that makes the hairs on Credence’s neck stand straight up. She giggles and winks at his nervous expression, patting his wrist happily. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.” She looks a little too knowing, but her kindness makes Credence relax despite his doubts.

Credence has never been a particularly big fan of sports events. He finds it a little hard to breathe in such big, faceless crowds, with strangers’ elbows digging into his ribs and screams ringing in his ears. Then there are the loud drum beats, the glimmer of brass horns, and the flash of cheerleader skirts that make his stomach feel sharp and needle-lined for reasons he cannot understand. And the athletes… the boys with their big shoulders and loud voices, helmets cracking against each other as they tussle on the field and slap each other on the back; they always make Credence feel rather small.

Credence sits with Queenie and Tina in the stands, picking quietly at a loose thread on his jeans as Tina shouts insults at the other team’s quarterback, hotdog mustard smeared on her upper lip. If he were a better boyfriend, he’d laugh and wipe it away with a smudge of his thumb but even thinking of doing something like that to Tina makes his gut twist with discomfort. He's thinking of sneaking away to the empty tennis courts to listen to music until the game is over when Mr. Graves collapses down beside him with a gruff, frustrated sigh.

“Didn't miss much, did I,” he mutters, and Credence jumps a little in surprise. Mr. Graves usually doesn't care to address him unless it was to sneer and make thinly veiled threats about pitchforks and scrotums. He looks to Credence now, an expectant expression in his face and Credence swallows a little, mouth desert-dry. He finally bows his head shyly and shakes his head, curls bouncing.

“No, sir. You didn’t.”

Mr. Graves stares at him with his dark, whiskey eyes and Credence's breath catches in his chest. Even frowning, the man is gorgeous, the waves of his hair loosened from the hold of his pomade.

“You're a polite little thing, aren't you?”

Credence feels himself flush, a strawberry heat burning his cheekbones, and he gives a small, trembling shrug. “I—I guess so.”

Mr. Graves keeps looking at him, and something in his eyes turns honey sweet. “You like football?”

Credence drags his eyes away from Mr. Graves’ face and back onto the field just in time to see a vicious tackle. Tina screams in outrage and nearly bursts his eardrum.

“Not particularly, sir,” he replies. “I—I never played. Don't think I'd do very well out there, anyways.”

Mr. Graves has also seen the ugly tackle and he swivels his gaze back to Credence, his brow furrowed, almost stressed, as his eyes catch on Credence's delicate collarbone and tiny wrists and soft, splittable mouth. “Probably for the best,” he says gruffly, sounding almost protective.

Credence gives a tiny little smile, eyes brightening, and he feels a wild flutter in his belly when Mr. Graves looks at him, slightly startled, before smiling back the smallest bit. He jumps a little when the crowd roars around them, flinching at the loudness and takes in a sharp breath.

“You okay over there, Credence?”

Credence looks up, startled. This is the first time Mr. Graves has called him by his first name instead of ‘the Boyfriend’ or ‘Barebone’ or ‘boy’. “It's just a little loud,” he says shakily, squeezing his hands in his lap.

Mr. Graves pauses, considering something for a moment, a pensive expression on his face before he reaches over and tugs Credence up gently by his arm. Credence's soft gasp of shock is swallowed up by another cheer from his friends.

“C’mon. I want some fries,” Mr. Graves says.

Tina doesn’t even notice when they leave, but Queenie grips Credence’s hand for a second as they pass her.

Mr. Graves looks strangely kind as he leads Credence out of the bleachers. Credence is used to being thrown about and shoved by the larger students in the crowd. But when a tall senior jams his shoulder into Credence, Mr. Graves only has to raise a severe eyebrow and the older boy clears his throat and quickly moves to the side so they can pass. It’s almost surreal, the warmth of Mr. Graves’ rough, work-worn hands blazing through the shoulder of Credence’s shirt, leading him out of the crowd.

It’s much quieter by the food counters and Credence can breathe easier. A few preteens giggle as they take their huge cups of sodas and sloppy hamburgers back towards the bleachers.

Credence blinks at the pure _amount_ of unhealthy food on offer: crisp fries and goopy-glazed donuts and funnel cake and everything fried, dripping in grease. He’s usually not allowed to eat these sort of things. His foster parents don’t have the money for him to frivolously spend on junk food.

Mr. Graves is looking up at the menu, hands tucked in his front pockets, contemplating the options. Credence sneaks glances at him, admiring his profile backlit by the stadium lights and the haze of the food counter fluorescents, quickly turning away when Mr. Graves tilts his head towards him.

“What would you like?” Mr. Graves asks, pulling out his wallet.

Credence freezes, not expecting Mr. Graves to offer him anything. He shakes his head, demurs with a polite, “Nothing, I’m fine, thank you,” but Mr. Graves is having none of it.

“The girls will be wanting popcorn. Pick something for yourself,” he insists firmly, and Credence looks down, knowing his cheeks are blooming red as he finally settles on the cheapest item he sees on the menu. “I’ll have a strawberry cone then, thank you.”

“So polite,” Mr. Graves mutters, sounding almost affronted as he steps up to the counter to place their order.

Credence tries his best not to stare too hard at Mr. Graves’ back as he walks forward, tries not to pay too much attention to the breadth of his shoulders beneath his suit, or the bulge of his thick arms pulling the fabric of the sleeves tight. He resolutely doesn’t wonder what it would feel like to be embraced by all of that strength and muscle and absolutely fails when Mr. Graves tucks his wallet into his pants pocket and Credence’s attention is immediately drawn to the tapered curve of his backside.

By the time Mr. Graves returns with their bounty, Credence knows his cheeks are beet red and his lips are swollen from where he’s been biting them between his teeth. If Mr. Graves notices, he kindly doesn’t say anything. He simply raises a brow and hands Credence his ice cream.

Credence takes the strawberry cone with shaking fingers, gasping when the melting ice cream immediately trickles onto his wrist. Reflexively, he brings his arm up to lap up the pink dribble before it can disappear sticky wet into his sleeve. He follows the line of melting cream up to the top of the sugar cone, drawing his tongue around the pink swirl and humming softly at the cool sweetness that settles sticky on his tongue, closing his eyes briefly to savor the taste.

When Credence opens his eyes again, Mr. Graves is staring at him with wide eyes, irises thin rings around his black, black pupils that are glittering darkly in the bright light. His knuckles are white around his bags of popcorn and fries. He doesn’t say anything, simply stares for a long moment at Credence licking his fingers and lapping slowly at his ice cream before he turns abruptly on his heel and starts walking back to the bleachers. Credence is left to follow hurriedly, feeling slightly confused and a little hurt.

“Mr. Graves?” Credence asks in bewilderment, but the man just shakes his head and doesn't answer, refusing to look back at Credence at all.

They push their way back to their seats, and despite Mr. Graves’ sudden coldness, he still helps clear a path for Credence, making sure none of the bigger students get in his way, and glares them down when they try. But still, he refuses to even look at Credence, jaw tight, eyes forward, shoulders tense. Credence is shaking by the time he takes his seat again, wondering what he’s done wrong.

“Credence.” Queenie tapping on his shoulder jerks him out of his thoughts and confusion, and he offers her the popcorn bag quietly.

“What?” Credence asks nervously, but she’s looking at Mr. Graves, who has turned his attention back to the game. As though he feels their stares, he turns back to glance at Credence for a brief second before he quickly looks away again.

Queenie is giving Credence a strange look that makes him blush, but he shakes his head vigorously. “Watch your footballers, Queenie.”

Credence stares down at his drippy ice cream, not moving even when his friends get to their feet to cheer as their team scores the last touchdown, or to peer over when a fight breaks out between two linebackers on the opposite team. He just sits there, feeling hollow and cold despite the emotions blooming in his chest that are becoming harder and harder to ignore.

…

Everything falls apart on a Friday in November. 

Mr. Graves is sitting in the living room that day, face covered by the spread of his newspaper but he still reminds them as they walk past, “keep the door open, Tina.”

Tina just rolls her eyes and keeps walking but Credence is half tempted to do something absurd like plant his feet and stop. He feels an edge of nerves settle in his belly, a flock of butterflies taking flight, gossamer wings beating against the lining of his stomach until he's nearly nauseous with the sensation of anxiety. 

He can feel today is going to be significant somehow. He knows it in the way Tina grips his hand tightly, the way she's nearly vibrating with excitement.

Tina leads him upstairs eagerly and Credence feels strangely disoriented when he enters her room. It’s all soft powder blues and white tulle curtains and her bed is covered in a fluffy duvet with a ruffled bedspread and a million pillows. Before he knows it, Tina’s stripped down to her lacy blue bra and is kissing him eagerly.

He always feels slightly clumsy when they kiss, like he’s been on a boat for weeks and only just stepped off-board, dizzy and vaguely confused. There's a hint of nausea at the edge of his throat. The sealeg feeling only intensifies when she pulls away with a wet little smack of lips and looks at him expectantly.

“Well, go on,” Tina says casually, like they’re in class solving a mathematics problem. “Touch me.”

Credence swallows around his dry tongue, and he registers that his hand is shaking as he touches his fingertips to her downy, cool belly. He expects to feel _something._ A sort of heat making him breathe heavy or the agony of his groin full and wanting in his trousers like he gets sometimes during lazy mornings in bed.

But no. There's only the sharp-edged anxiety biting into his stomach, and he looks up at Tina nervously, hoping she’d tell him what to do, or better yet, that she would just smile and say, ‘oh, that’s enough for me. We don’t have to do this ever again!’

Instead, he gets a low coo like the kind a grandmother makes when she sees a puppy. “Oh, you’re nervous!” Tina laughs delightedly. She grabs his hand and shoves it in her bra. “You don’t have to be. I like you, Cree.”

Credence bites his lip and looks at her breasts in her pretty bra. He tries hard, so hard to feel _something._ He watches the swell and fall of her milky skin, tries to think about how _soft_ and warm her nipple feels against his palm, but his eyes keep straying to the delicate lacework on the smooth cups of the bra. He can feel the silky inside against his knuckles.

He wonders how it might feel against his own nipples, sinfully soft and satiny, reminding him what he’s wearing throughout the day as it rubs over his skin. Maybe he’d even wear matching panties that'll cradle his full cock nice and snug and sweet.

That thought process _terrifies_ him because he can feel heat pooling in his lower belly. It’s not because of Tina, but because of a _bra_ that has Credence feeling this way and he panics. Credence casts around for an excuse, any excuse as he pulls his hand off of her. “B-but. Y-your father.”

Tina huffs and crosses her arms and any other boy would’ve been delighted by the pretty picture that makes. “Don’t mind him. He got my mom pregnant when he was twenty. He can’t say anything about me making out with a cute boy.” She grins down at him and he pinks, still a little unbelieving that anyone, especially a girl as nice and as pretty as Tina could ever think _him_ cute _._

“Thank you,” he murmurs, even as he gathers her shirt from the floor and pulls it over her head. “B-but. I don’t want to do anything while your dad’s home. He already doesn’t like me very much.” He bows his head, still blushing pink.

Tina cups his cheek. “Hey.” Her voice is soft. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks. I like you.” She kisses him and he kisses her back numbly, cock still hard and swelling further because of the lingerie he keeps thinking about in his head.

Tina’s phone shrills out a sharp little beep and Tina groans, peeling herself off of Credence to check her messages, tapping harshly on the screen. Credence notices idly that her lockscreen is a picture of a small black kitten.

“Dammit Queenie,” she mutters under her breath, before turning big, apologetic eyes on Credence. “I have to go. Queenie’s freaking out about something or another.”

Credence blinks, a wave of relief flooding over him so intensely that he feels vaguely guilty about wanting Tina to never touch him again. “Oh. Um. That's alright.”

Tina smirks as she hops up from the bed and starts hunting for a jacket. “Don't worry,” she says inside her closet, voice muffled. “Once I get back, I _promise_ we can do more.” A quick peck and she's whirling out the door, giggling a little.

Credence is left feeling vaguely dizzy and rather nauseous, because he should've expected this. Of course Tina wants to do more. He's her boyfriend. That's what they're _supposed_ to do. But he has no desire for any of it, and his fingers start to shake quietly as he feels tears pinprick his eyes with heat.

That's how Mr. Graves finds him, sitting on Tina’s bed, trying to blink back the endless stream of tears that fall disobediently from his eyes. Credence is brushing the back of his hand across his cheeks when he feels the space of the bed sinking slightly next to him, and he freezes when he looks over to find Mr. Graves.

“I should be mad to find you in my daughter’s bed,” Mr. Graves begins, the tilt of his mouth not unkind, “but you're crying. What's wrong, Credence?”

“N-nothing,” Credence stammers, willing the tears to stop, but they only come faster, spilling in fat salty drops.

There's no way he can tell Mr. Graves the shameful truth. Not when the truth, Credence has come to realize, is that he's all twisted and wrong. Instead of wanting Tina who is beautiful and kind and amazing, Credence envies her. He wants to be soft and delicate and beautiful like Tina. Wants long hair and long lashes and pretty lacy things. Wants men to look at him the way they look at her. Wants _Mr. Graves_ to look at him with lust and wonder and desire.

No, of course he can't tell Mr. Graves any of that.

“Look,” Mr. Graves says, sounding slightly put upon and awkward. “I know teenagers think relationship problems are do-or-die at this age, but really I'm sure whatever issues you and Tina are having can be resolv—”

“That's not it,” Credence murmurs, shocked at himself for interrupting Mr. Graves, who only raises a thick brow in response, waiting for Credence to elaborate. He swallows hard, his words feeling like a boulder lodged tight in his throat. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, feels more tears slip hotly down his cheeks, tickling his jaw. “I’m—I’m all twisted up.” He covers his mouth, feels like he might gag. “I’m all wrong, Mr. Graves.” He allows himself one more sob before he gathers himself, breathing heavily and swiping away his tears firmly.

Mr. Graves hands him a tissue, rubbing Credence’s back soothingly. “Credence, I doubt that’s true.”

“Then why do I feel this way?” Credence cries out. “Instead of loving your daughter, instead of dreaming of her and wanting her kisses, why do I want to vomit whenever I touch her?” He shakes. “Why, when I see her, do I want her prettiness, not for myself, but for my own?!”

Graves’ eyes have darkened as Credence continues speaking. “What do you mean, Credence?” He looks agitated. “I don’t understand.”

Credence presses his lips together, knowing he’s already said too much, and shakes his head.

“If you’re in love with someone else—” says Mr. Graves slowly in the low, comforting voice Credence loves, but that just makes the tears start again. “Shh, Credence, it’s alright. Look at me. You can tell me.”

Credence shakes his head again, the tears coming harder, turning into hiccoughing breaths as he lowers his face into his hands. “No, I can’t tell you,” he wails from between his fingers, narrow shoulders trembling from the force of his sobs.

But then Mr. Graves leans in, pulls Credence’s hands away gently, revealing his glossy eyes and flushed cheeks. He cups Credence’s face, a wide thumb gently wiping away the messy tears. “You can,” soothes Mr. Graves in a soft whisper Credence has never heard from him before. “You _can._ Whatever it is, however horrible you think it is, I’ll help you, Credence.”

Credence gasps a deep steadying breath, swallowing hard to ease his hiccoughs. “You can’t help me with this, Mr. Graves,” he whispers, soft and tremulous, so low he can barely hear himself. He closes his eyes before he continues. He doesn’t want to see Mr. Graves’ reaction. “Not when it’s you.”

“Me?” Mr. Graves sounds confused, but still Credence shakes his head, refuses to open his eyes. “What do you mean, me?” Credence feels his warm hands slide down to gently grip at his shoulders. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“I—” Credence swallows heavily and gathers up his courage. He steels himself for the worst, knowing he’s about to lose not only Mr. Graves but Tina in one fell swoop, but he can’t contain his secret anymore. Not when Mr. Graves sounds so kind and concerned, voice soft and comforting like he cares. Not when his own want is burning him up, and the words are tumbling from his mouth, and he’s telling Mr. Graves, “When you said if I’m in love with someone else—it’s. It’s you.”

At best, he expects to be laughed at. At worst, beaten half to death, thrown out to wallow in his own misery. He doesn’t see Mr. Graves’ expression, he’s too much of a coward to even open his eyes. But he does feel a trembling, large hand reach up and cup his cheek, tilting his face to the side.

Credence breathes in shakily, unable to think, to believe it, but then a warm, hot mouth settles over his lips, and he whimpers. It’s not like Tina’s kisses, soft and chaste and tasting of artificial cherry lip balm. This one is rough and hungry and he can feel the rasp of Mr. Graves’ unshaven jaw sliding against his cheek and chin.

He gasps into the kiss, everything in him buzzing with excitement and confusion and a flutter of a million butterfly wings when he feels Mr. Graves’ tongue slip through the open seam of his mouth. He can feel Mr. Graves’ broad palms settling on his hips, pulling him closer and Credence willingly follows, eager to be pressed against the thick strong body he's been dreaming of being allowed to touch.

Credence feels Mr. Graves press him slow, but insistent down onto his back on the bed, but he can’t register it. He’s lost in the hungry all-consuming kiss as big hands slide down the rungs of his ribs to smooth over his belly and hips and back up again. Mr. Graves finally pulls away and their lips part with a soft, wet little smack that sounds positively _obscene_ in the silence of the room.

The only sounds are their uneven breaths and Credence’s shaky voice when he whispers, “M-Mr. Graves,” his eyelids finally fluttering open.

“Oh, my boy,” Mr. Graves rasps, his voice gravel rough as he trails kisses along Credence's jaw and down the length of his neck. Credence shivers at the sensation of Mr. Graves’ rough stubble dragging against the smooth planes of his skin. “Do you know what a temptation you are? How much I've wanted you since the first time I saw you?”

Credence doesn't think he heard Mr. Graves properly. He cannot possibly be saying what Credence thinks he's saying. It's impossible that someone as handsome and amazing would want someone like Credence.

“You can’t mean that,” he whispers, voice trembly and fragile, near shaking. “Mr. Graves—I’m disgusting. I want—so many things that are so very wrong. Awful, sinful things. You—you can’t want me back…” His eyes brim with more tears, and he feels himself panicking a little. “Please… don’t…”

Mr. Graves groans against his neck. “I do, Credence. You're gorgeous and amazing and I haven't stopped wanting you since I met you, despite you dating Tina and if anyone is wanting all the wrong things, it's me. _God_ , you have no idea what you even do to me, do you?”

Credence trembles. The words seem almost too good to be true. “I thought you'd hate me,” he says brokenly. “For stealing your d-daughter and then for falling in love with you. Why do you—why are you being so—why would you ever like me?”

“I—,” Mr. Graves stops mid sentence, and slowly sits up. He pauses and motions for Credence to be quiet, tilting his head towards the door. There's the thud of a door closing and the soft creak of floorboards under bare feet and Credence shakes.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Mr. Graves curses, running his fingers through his hair to push it back into some semblance of order. “Tina’s back. We'll have to continue this later,” he tells Credence, pressing a final kiss to his cheek where it settles into his skin, warm like a promise.

Credence is left sprawled on the bed, trembling, lips swollen from kisses, legs coltish and melted when Tina sweeps in, chatting happily about Queenie getting some high school internship or other, like Credence's world hasn't just broken apart and rearranged itself around Percival Graves.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Credence walks about in a daze after the incident for a whole week afterwards. He must've imagined the whole thing, a wild swirl of half-baked wishes and wants that bloomed into a sweet, but impossible dream. But those are evil thoughts, sinful thoughts.

Credence knows he's not only a liar and a cheat, but he's also the worst kind of deviant as he's standing in his foster home’s tiny mildewy shower with water sluicing down his back and two fingers inside of himself. He doesn’t know how it starts, a slow yearning that becomes a heated desire.

Before Mr. Graves, he would’ve never, ever gotten the courage to do it, but the thought of Mr. Graves often comes to Credence in the shower. His thick shoulders, his strong hands, his beautiful jaw…. The hot water sliding down his skin makes him achey and too sensitive, his skin buzzing with need.

This isn't the first time he’s slid his hand over himself to the thought of Mr. Graves. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he startles awake, the softest parts of him throbbing hard and slick, and he trembles with desire, Mr. Graves’ name on his lips.

And now he is sliding conditioner-slicked fingers over the place where he pulses and needs greedily, but it’s not enough, never enough, not even as he whines and his thighs shake. If he closes his eyes he can just picture Mr. Graves sliding up behind him, palming at his belly with his warm hands. He imagines Mr. Graves would be enough to fill him where he's so, so empty, would be able to do more than his too-thin fingers curling up, up, up against—

“CREDENCE!” A sharp bang on the door startles him out of it and Credence gasps as he pulls his fingers out with a slick _pop!_ “What’s taking so long?!” Chastity sounds viciously irritated and Credence’s arousal immediately dissolves, instead leaving only a vague sense of disappointment and guilt.

“I’m almost done!”

Chastity is glaring by the door when he gets out. He knows he's flushed beet red in the face with shame and embarrassment, and he can only hope that she will attribute his blush to the heat of the water.

“Honestly,” mutters Chastity as she stalks past him. Credence shuffles to the kitchen, still so pink that his foster mother Daisy hums worriedly and presses her hand to the slope of his forehead, muttering about fever going around at work.

“I’m fine,” mutters Credence, feeling his cheeks bloom brighter as Daisy lifts an eyebrow.

“You headed over to Tina’s later today?” she asks absently, already turning back to her previous task of packing the younger kids’ bags, and Credence nods shyly. Credence has started going over to Tina's house everyday after school, even when she has to stay after for the newspaper and student council and chess club and any of the other million activities she attends.

“Hm. Well, be sure to give me a call when you know when you’re coming home.” Daisy gathers the elementary aged children and piles them into her car as Credence slips out the door and begins the trek to school, the sun shining too brightly to be cooped up in a classroom all day.

Today isn’t any different than any other for Tina. She has a chess club meeting in the afternoon, and Credence teases her tentatively about being a nerd until she slaps at his arm with a soft laugh. She sends him off with a kiss to the cheek at the school doors, giggling.

“I’ll be out as soon as I can,” she laughs, before skipping back into the lobby, but Credence knows chess club always runs late. He waves sheepishly at her as a few boys from the soccer team toss him jealous looks.

After school, Credence drags his feet to the Graves house, because he knows Mr. Graves is going to be home early this time. He’s been dodging the man ever since they kissed in Tina’s bedroom, breathing a sigh of relief every time Tina gets home before her father does, because as much as he wants Mr. Graves, he can’t ever have him. No matter what they both want. But his feelings don’t seem to understand this.

He can always hear Mr. Graves pulling up to the curb, a low hum of a sleek, vintage Corvette rumbling through the house and making his breath shudder with nerves and an incredible anticipation that fills him with wings. He can smell Mr. Graves’ lovely, sweet lemon and pine cologne curling around every corner of the house, his belly welling with heat when he finds the glass bottle sitting innocently on the bathroom counter. He's tempted to dab his fingers along the cap, hoping to catch a bit of that scent on his skin.

But Credence can’t avoid the man forever, and the moment he steps up to the front door, it swings open, and Mr. Graves is standing there. Credence finds himself off kilter because Mr. Graves is not in his sleek, tapered work suit, but in a pair of dark blue jeans and a soft, stretchy Henley that clings to his shoulders and chest and hints at a few dark curls on his chest. The sight makes Credence burn hot all over, his mouth running dry, and he should really look away.

“Haven’t seen you around for a while,” Mr. Graves says, voice husky, and Credence immediately blushes red as a strawberry. He wants to smack himself, he’s so transparent in his wants.

“I—I guess not,” whispers Credence, chewing nervously on his bottom lip.

“Come on in, Credence.” Mr. Graves steps to the side, and Credence pauses for only a moment before crossing the threshold, bag clutched nervously in his arms like a security blanket.

“Th-thanks for having me,” he says, so low Mr. Graves has to ask him to repeat himself.

“Oh, it's nothing.” Mr. Graves smiles at Credence, soft enough that Credence feels he might very well melt. “I was just working on something in the garage, if you don’t mind helping me?”

See, Credence knows it's a trap. Knows the moment he enters the room with Mr. Graves, the door will close and Mr. Graves will turn towards him with those dark lovely eyes and cup his cheek and ‘want to talk’. And yet Credence nods slowly, politely, just like his mother beat into him all those years ago.

“I don't mind at all,” he says softly.

To his surprise, Mr. Graves does nothing of the sort. He rolls up his sleeves, Credence swallowing at the sight of his muscular forearms that look strong enough to break him and starts digging through boxes stacked in rows along the garage walls.

“I've been meaning to organize this junk for a while now,” Mr. Graves is saying, elbows deep in a cardboard box of what appears to be old clothing. “There's so much of it I'm afraid it'll fill up the garage soon. I need to toss most of it out but I still have to see what's in all of these piles before I do, in case I miss something.”

Credence feels like _he's_ missing something. He's perplexed, wondering why Mr. Graves hasn't cornered him to _talk_ yet. Maybe Mr. Graves changed his mind about Credence, he doesn't want him anymore. He’s had enough time to think about everything while Credence was avoiding him. He's realized that Credence is too young, too scrawny, too ugly, too stupid, and this is his nice way of letting him down easy. They don't have to talk about anything, they can just go back to the way they were: Mr. Graves is Tina’s dad and Credence is Tina’s boyfriend.

How foolish Credence was, thinking he has a chance with someone like Mr. Graves, despite his pretty words and lovely sentiments.

It _hurts_ but Credence can play along. He swallows heavily around his pain and moves in to help empty out the stacks of boxes and place the items from inside of them into neat piles, trying hard to ignore the sadness that wells up inside of him until he can't take it anymore.

He pulls out old jacket after old jacket from the box in front of him, pausing when he finds something made of navy felt and maroon leather accented in bright goldenrod yellow. He tugs the thing out. It's a heavy jacket, embroidered with patches and numbers. There's an enormous roaring black wampus on the back and an big red W stitched on the breast. The name ‘Graves’ is spelled out in cursive on the right side. It’s Mr. Graves’ old letterman.

Credence thinks of Queenie's cheerleader friends proudly wearing their boyfriends’ varsity jackets, and that of all things is what breaks him.

Credence doesn't realize he's crying until his vision blurs and he's swiping his dirty hand against his cheek, desperately trying to stem the tears. His shoulders are shaking when he feels strong arms wrap around them, pulling him towards the broad chest that's suddenly in front of him. Credence leans into Mr. Graves, pressing his face against his shoulder and takes deep shuddering breaths, inhaling the familiar scent of lemon and pine.

“Shhh,” Mr. Graves murmurs into his hair. “What's wrong, baby boy?”

The affectionate pet name only makes the tears flow faster. Mr. Graves is just being nice to him now because Credence is crying.

“Y-you don't want me anymore,” Credence sobs, the words tumbling from his mouth, sounding far more accusing than he intended. Credence can feel Mr. Graves stiffening against him. He's done it again, he's pushed Mr. Graves even further away. He tries to break out of his arms, intending to put distance between them but the hold tightens, drawing Credence even closer.

“Why would you think that?” Mr. Graves asks softly, moving his large palms soothingly down Credence’s back in broad strokes until he melts against him.

Credence takes another deep breath. “We’re not talking about it,” he says plaintively, realizing belatedly how childish he sounds and wishes he can take back the words. He keeps saying such stupid things, no wonder Mr. Graves is backing away.

But Mr. Graves only steps back far enough to face Credence, his hands coming up to bracket Credence's cheeks, thumbs gently wiping away the last of his tears. He's frowning and Credence wants to dip his finger into the furrow at his brow to smooth out the worry and consternation he finds there, but that's not his to touch.

“Credence,” Mr. Graves begins, his mouth an unhappy line. “I thought you were the one with regrets. You've been avoiding me, and I can take a hint, sweetheart. If you didn't want to talk about it, I was ready to step away and we can go back to—”

“No!” Credence interrupts, frantic. Panic swells in his throat. He's messed up again. He's always messing up. He almost lost his chance. He almost lost Mr. Graves. “No,” he repeats, softer.

“What do you want, Credence?” Mr. Graves asks, soft like a sigh.

“I want—” Credence sniffles a little and clutches at Mr. Graves’ hands on his cheeks. “I want _you,_ but…. But I can't have you.” He swallows around a lump in his throat and whispers quietly, “I-I'm already being terrible about Tina. And it—it'd be a sin.” He looks up at Mr. Graves, lashes heavy and spiked with teardrops.

“A sin?” Mr. Graves leans in closer, and a thumb gently swipes away a tear curving over Credence's sharp cheek. “How could it be a sin, Credence? Does this feel wrong to you?”

Credence trembles, because it _doesn't._ Being this close to Mr. Graves, becoming drunk off of the sweet smell of pine and lemon of his cologne, intoxicated by the feeling of his rough palm cupping his cheek, sliding down to stroke and pet at his long neck and nape, it feels beautifully _right._ Like Credence had been born for the sole purpose of curling up in Mr. Graves’ strong lap, letting the man pet and kiss and love him, as if God had made Credence slim and soft and sweet for strong, handsome, kind Mr. Graves.

“It doesn't,” says Credence shamefully. “It—it feels good.”

“How could you think that this,” and here he brushes the sweetest of kisses over Credence's overripe mouth, swollen with his flush of tears, “could ever be bad?”

“My old Ma,” Credence touches his mouth shyly. “...she said I tempted men into sin. That… that I might look Godly but inside…. I'm all rotten and twisted up. I'm not supposed to give in to these horrible urges.”

Mr. Graves’ frown deepens. “You know that’s not true.” His lips find Credence’s temple, peppering sweet kisses there that make Credence shiver. “You’re not evil just because you are beautiful, Credence.”

“I’m—I’m not—” begins Credence softly, cheeks burning.

“You are,” says Mr. Graves firmly. It’s nothing like Tina’s teasing, lewd jokes about his lips or Queenie calling him pretty boy affectionately or even one of the school linebackers squeezing his ass as a joke when passing him in the halls. It’s so genuine, said with such fierceness that Credence’s breath catches in his ribcage. “You are so fucking beautiful, Credence. Never doubt that.”

Credence smiles bashfully, brushing back his longish curls from his eyes. “No one's ever said anything like that to me before,” he says with a little squeak of nerves, and Mr. Graves gives a little huff of laughter.

“More people should tell you how amazing you are,” Mr. Graves insists warmly, and Credence squirms a little, even as Mr. Graves groans darkly into his ear. “Even my own daughter doesn't see what she has in front of her,” he says bitterly, his voice a deep disgruntled rumble.

Credence’s brow furrows a little in confusion. He tilts his head, smiling a little. “What—what do you mean?” He gives a little, nervous laugh, high and fluttery in his chest. “Tina—”

“Tina,” sighs Mr. Graves, “doesn’t appreciate you in the way that she should, Credence.” He brushes his thumb over Credence’s cheekbone, and Credence feels like maybe Mr. Graves is purposefully not saying something. “I know she’s very busy with her clubs and activities after school, but that doesn’t leave much time or consideration for you. Leaving you here, all by yourself. Dragging you to places where you’re uncomfortable.”

“Tina’s very busy,” says Credence weakly, shuffling his feet.

“But you’re her boyfriend,” says Mr. Graves, mouth thin with disappointment, whether in his daughter’s behavior or her treatment of Credence, Credence doesn’t know. “I thought I taught her better than that, to always make time for the ones she cares for.”

Credence makes a little uncomfortable noise, not really wanting to talk about Tina in front of her father, especially not with the way he feels about Mr. Graves. It feels more than a little hypocritical. “I don’t mind, really,” he mumbles. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to spend time with you.”

Mr. Graves sighs, brushing his lips against Credence’s temple, almost greedy in his affection. “We’re all horrible people, aren’t we? But I can’t help how much I want you. You’re beautiful. Incredible. _Adorable_.” He punctuates each word with a kiss, soft and longing against Credence’s mouth, cheeks, forehead. “You drive me crazy.”

“I'm not much at all,” Credence protests, continuing before Mr. Graves can interrupt him. “Not like you. You make me nervous,” he admits, playing with Mr. Graves’ big hand, admiring the knuckles dusted lightly with dark hair and the fingers with the lack of a ring. It makes him feel warm and hot inside, to think he is Mr. Graves’ only.

“Why’s that?” murmurs Mr. Graves. “It’s just me.”

“That’s why,” admits Credence, looking up at him with sparkling eyes. “ I—I really like you, Mr. Graves. And… and I’m so afraid of messing things up. I’m already messing up! I made you think I didn’t want this.”

Credence is gently interrupted when sweet lips peck his and he sighs happily when he looks up and sees Mr. Graves smiling down at him, looking both flattered and… and reverent?

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “I don’t blame you for that, Credence. It was… I came on too strong and I never reached out to you to speak about it. We were both at fault. We’ll just have to take this one step at a time.”

Credence hides his face in Mr. Graves’ chest for a moment, just breathing. “That sounds nice,” he admits softly. “Okay.” Credence looks down their entwined fingers, heart stuttering when Mr. Graves’ hand tightens its grips slightly. “So… so you wouldn’t mind being… being mine?” His voice is wavering, quiet and timid, but Mr. Graves doesn’t laugh or dismiss him.

“I would love to, more than anything,” he says, and it sounds like a promise. Everything feels surreal, like something out of a film, but when Credence meets Mr. Graves’ gaze, he sees nothing but sincerity, and Credence makes a tiny, happy little noise of relief. He smiles brightly, blinking when Mr. Graves stoops down to pick up his old letterman that had been dropped forgotten to the floor.

Mr. Graves stands up straight, smiling softly with fondness in his eyes and holds out his old varsity without a hint of irony in his expression. “And would you be mine, Credence?”

“O-oh. Y-yes. I'd love to.” Credence takes a sharp inhale of breath through his nose as Mr. Graves takes his jacket, a gorgeous, sacred thing, something meant for a special chosen person, and drapes it over Credence's shoulders. It's too big on him; the shoulders and arms are far too wide, and the hem goes nearly to his knees.

Credence is practically drowning in the jacket, but he eagerly tugs it on, hugging it to himself and nuzzling into the soft, slightly worn collar. He breathes in happily. It’s a bit musty from disuse, but still. The faint smell of pine and lemon makes him relax, and he looks up at Mr. Graves, lashes wet with gratitude. “Thank you,” he says fervently.

Mr. Graves’ eyes dilate just a bit, turning them that littlest bit darker. He seems to inhale thickly, deeply, before letting his breath out. “Seems a bit big for you.”

“It’s—I like it this way, Mr. Graves. It’s good.” Credence feels a frisson of nerves and excitement shoot through him as Mr. Graves’ smirk goes sharkish and he slips closer.

“Is it?” asks Mr. Graves, tilting up Credence’s chin. “How good?” and Credence breathes, “V-very,” just as his lips are silenced by his Mr. Graves’ mouth, drawing him into a heated, happy kiss that Credence wishes could last forever.

…

“Sorry, Cree.” To her credit, Tina does look very apologetic, even shoves a peanut butter cookie into his hand without making him pay. She's dashing from one end of the food stand to the other, trying her best to be in two places at once as other students duck to get out of her way. “But Jacob needs help with _The Howler_ bake sale, and you know how these things get. We still have so much baking to do for the cheerleading bake sale tomorrow. We can't keep taking from Jacob’s bakery. So many bake sales,” she sighs. “I might stay over at Queenie's tonight if it runs really late.”

Credence smiles at her, but not too wide or enthusiastic, in case that looks suspicious. “It’s okay, Tina.” He nibbles on the treat to be polite. She never really seems to hear when he tells her he’s not a very big fan of peanut butter. “I'll just hang around your house for a bit.”

“Oh, good. Don't drive Dad too crazy now,” she says and pauses. She shuffles some boxes around as Credence watches curiously. She seems a little nervous, wringing her hands, and he finally understands why when she says, “I’m going to be kind of busy this weekend, Cree. I know we don’t spend a lot of time together outside of school days already, but I promised Newt I would hang out with him.”

Credence blinks, a little surprised. “That’s fine, Tina. I don’t mind. Um. Have fun, okay?”

Tina gives him a long look, almost incredulous, before she sighs in relief. “You’re so understanding. You’re the best, Cree! Thank you,” she says as she leans in and pecks his cheek before dashing off to help Jacob carry bundles and bundles of foodstuff from his mother’s bakery.

Credence is left to walk to her house alone, the bright California sun warming him gently as he heads down the winding streets, hands shoved in his pockets, brow furrowing with thought, belly roiling with conflict.

He should break up with Tina. He knows he needs to, but selfishness wells up in his belly and he bites his lip hard.

Credence has wanted little in his life. He's always wanted the simplest of things: a home, warm meals, nice friends, abundant laughter. Someone who cares for him. He knows he now has a lot of these because of Tina. And his biggest fear, the coldness that shakes him awake some nights, is the idea that someday he’ll be without them again, lost, alone. So he clings to them both, Mr. Graves and his daughter, and prays that he’s good enough to keep them.

And even though Credence is selfish, he also doesn't want to hurt Tina, especially not when she seems to like him so much. She takes every opportunity to hold his hand, to press sweet kisses to his lips and cheeks, to laugh and joke and spend time with him, even though Credence's thoughts are always elsewhere, even though he is a dim glow compared to her bright, lively shine.

Shamefully, despite the gorgeous girl in his arms, his mind is always on her father, the man Credence truly desires, whose kisses and rough hands he can't stop thinking about. Who, also thanks to Tina, Credence can see as often as he likes. Mr. Graves, who might no longer want Credence anymore if he breaks his daughter’s heart. He can't do it.

Credence justifies staying with her by telling himself he'll break up with her soon. He'll do it the next week, the week after, the next month. He just wants to hold onto the little things he cherishes for a bit longer.

“Mr. Graves?” he asks softly at the door, and he’s a bit startled to see the door jerk open as if Mr. Graves had been lying in wait. And he certainly doesn’t expect to be pulled through the doorway, and kissed desperately, Mr. Graves moving away from his mouth to slide his lips over Credence’s jaw and throat and neck as Credence pants, startled by this ferocious hunger. But somehow, his body understands, is able to respond and kiss back at any bit of tan, lovely skin he can reach, because they haven’t truly been alone since that wonderful afternoon in the dusty, box-filled garage, holding hands and trading sweet nothings until Tina came home with the slam of a front door startling them apart.

Since then, it had been secretly traded smiles over dinner, glances as they pass each other in the hallway, Credence longing so intensely it makes his heart sting like a fresh papercut across his chest.

Once, they exchanged a terrifying, seconds-long kiss under the guise of helping Mr. Graves fix dinner in the kitchen. Another time, they had just enough time for a breathless press of lips when Tina went up to her room to fetch something for their study session. There've been a handful of stolen moments, none of which lasted long enough for any sort of satisfaction.

But nothing can compare to this. No quick, thrilling peck, or long, hungry stare, or a brush of a hand against his nape can hold a candle to being swooped up in strong arms and carried like a princess into Mr. Graves’ living room. He clings to the strong neck, hiding his face shyly as Mr. Graves sits and Credence is rearranged in his warm, solid lap, feeling the thick thighs cushion him so nicely.

“Hello,” Credence whispers against Mr. Graves’ neck.

“Hello,” murmurs Mr. Graves back, pulling the slightest bit away so he can look Credence in the eye. “I’m sorry for the ambush back there.”

“I'm excited to see you too,” Credence tells him, smiling shyly. He slides his fingers through the soft short hairs at Mr. Graves’ neck, looking down nervously. “I really, really miss you, Mr. Graves.”

Mr. Graves looks exorbitantly pleased to hear that, squeezing Credence so suddenly he gives a soft bleat of surprise. “Really?” His eyes glitter at Credence. “How much?”

Credence blushes, but admits with his face hidden in Mr. Graves’ chest, “As soon as I get home, I put on your jacket. It's so warm, and—and it smells like you. It makes me think you're holding me when I wear it.”

Mr. Graves makes a low sound in his throat and pulls Credence down for another searing kiss. Mr. Graves is trailing kisses down Credence's neck when he suddenly flinches away, gently but insistently pushing Credence off his lap. “ _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ ” he mutters, sprinting towards the kitchen.

Credence follows, slightly confused, until he smells the acrid heavy scent of smoke lingering in the air and sees Mr. Graves scraping something from a pan into the garbage bin as he mutters under his breath about ruined dinner plans. He bites at his knuckle to keep from laughing and that's how Mr. Graves sees him when he turns, eyes bright and lips curved behind his hand.

“What's so funny?” Mr. Graves asks, eyes narrowed playfully. He abandons the pan of burnt food and stalks forward, gait prowling and predatory.

Credence's eyes widen and his breath sticks in his throat in anticipation. “Nothing!” he squeaks, just as Mr. Graves gathers him up in his arms and deposits him on the countertop.

“Hm. Likely story.” Mr. Graves grins, showing off wolfish eyeteeth. “I'll give you something to smile about.”

The kisses resume as though nothing's happened and Credence sighs happily, twining his fingers back through Mr. Graves’ thick hair to pull him closer. He moans softly as Mr. Graves pushes his legs apart to slot between them, hands gripping tight at Credence's thighs and squeezing before moving up to cup the curve of his waist.

“We might have to order in,” Mr. Graves sighs as he pulls away. “I need to call Tina to see if she's coming home for dinner.”

“Tina says she might be out all night,” Credence says shyly, looking up from beneath his lashes. “We have time.”

Mr. Graves seems to swallow hard, leaning in close to slide his soft mouth against Credence’s jaw. Credence sighs happily, tilting his head so the gentle scrape of barely there stubble can pink his skin gently.

“And what do you suppose...” Mr. Graves falters, sucking in deep breaths as he presses one last kiss to the slim throat. “What do you suppose we can do with all of this time?” He pulls away slowly as Credence leans forward, trying to follow, making a soft noise of protest in his throat when Mr. Graves moves just out of reach.

Credence bites at his lip and looks up at Mr. Graves, watching delightedly as his eyes go heated and dark as his gaze drops to Credence’s mouth. “W-we can do whatever you like, Mr. Graves,” he whispers. Credence drops his gaze to Mr. Graves’ throat, unable to keep eye contact as he slowly runs his tongue over his bottom lip, watching as Mr. Graves swallows hard, and then he’s scooped up in strong arms and carried off the countertop and out of the kitchen.

Credence doesn't care where they're going, focused only on trying to kiss as much of Mr. Graves’ neck as he can reach from the awkward angle. He barely notices being carried upstairs until he's dropped carefully onto a soft bed. Credence yelps in surprise, a soft cry that turns into soft whimpers as he's kissed again and again until his lips feel swollen plump and red.

With a surge of bravery, Credence tugs at Mr. Graves’ collar until he gets the hint and starts to work on his buttons, shrugging out of his work shirt and stepping out of his trousers, and Credence can finally touch. He runs his hands reverently over every inch of bared skin he can reach, scritching his fingers against the curls he finds on Mr. Graves’ chest and traces along the endless planes of muscles and bulk.

Credence obligingly raises his arms when Mr. Graves begins to lift his shirt, eager to get out of his own clothes so they can be pressed skin to skin.

“Beautiful,” Mr. Graves breathes when Credence lays fully naked beneath him. The reverently whispered word makes him suddenly shy, but he fights the urge to cover himself as he stares up at Mr. Graves, who is everything he's ever dreamed of, and Credence can barely believe he can have this.

“ _Please_ ,” Credence murmurs, begging for something he's too shy to put into words. He hopes Mr. Graves gets the hint when Credence arches up against him, trying to get as close as possible.

Credence _wants_ so much, anything and everything Mr. Graves would give him. It feels nothing like the nausea that wells up inside of him when Tina touches him. This is all liquid fire and burning heat that makes him brave and handsy and demanding. Every inch of him feels aflame, aching to be touched and his fingers itch to be able to press against every part of Mr. Graves, who hovers above him like a warm anchoring weight. Every part of them that touches sparks little flames of pleasure that burn and simmer, accumulating in a well of lava in the pit of his belly.

Credence barely has the right of mind to feel ashamed of his own wantonness, not when Mr. Graves is pressing open mouthed kisses along his neck and down his chest, wet hot presses of lips that leave his skin tingling. He moans as he clutches at the sheets, legs spreading to accommodate Mr. Graves, who settles between them as though he belongs there. Every kiss feels like a starburst of sensation, and Credence cannot get enough as Mr. Graves presses his lips to the ladder of his ribs, the dip of his navel and the bracket of his thighs.

Each touch feels achingly worshipful, reverent and heartrending in their intensity. Credence can barely breathe by the time Mr. Graves slips his broad palms under his waist to lift his hips slightly, his breath coming in stuttering gasps as he stares back at Mr. Graves with wide eyes.

“ _Please_ ,” Credence begs again, and this time he has some idea of what he wants when Mr. Graves presses another kiss to the soft skin of his peachy thigh.

Mr. Graves’ eyes are molasses dark when he looks up at Credence, holding his gaze as he swallows Credence down to the root. Credence mewls as his hips move to arch off the bed, but he's held firmly in place by Mr. Graves, who is doing something with his tongue that has Credence seeing stars as he clenches his eyes shut. He barely registers the loss of wet heat until he hears the _pop_ of Mr. Graves’ mouth leaving his cock and hands cupping his face.

“I want to see you, baby,” Mr. Graves murmurs, his voice sounding hoarse.

Credence's eyes flutter open obediently and he feels the hot prickle of tears at the corner of his eyes. Everything is near overwhelming when Mr. Graves says, “that’s my boy,” and closes his mouth over the hard length of his cock again.

Nothing compares to the feeling of coming as Mr. Graves hollows his cheeks around him, heated dark gaze locked onto his own. Credence can feel the tears finally tumble from his eyes, streaking down his cheeks in burning lines as he cries out in pleasure, overwhelmed by sensation, and he feels himself shatter, writhing and mewling on the bed.

Credence barely realizes he's drifting off until he feels Mr. Graves moving up to curl against his side, slinging a strong arm around his waist and pulling him close. He leans up for a kiss, shivering in delight when he tastes himself on Mr. Graves’ tongue. As he shifts against Mr. Graves’ chest, and a soft noise of distress escapes his throat when he feels the hard line of Mr. Graves’ cock pressing against his thigh, hot and dripping at the tip.

“You haven't come yet,” Credence says balefully. Emboldened and loose from his orgasm, Credence tentatively reaches down to grasp at Mr. Graves’ length, marveling at the feeling of closing his fingers around the wide girth of his man. He smiles shyly when Mr. Graves groans lowly against his neck.

“You don’t have to do that, Credence,” Mr. Graves says tightly as he closes his hand around Credence’s wrist to still his movements. “This was about making you feel good.”

Credence blinks up at him, and slowly licks his lips. “But I want to, Mr. Graves.”

Mr. Graves makes another low sound in his throat and kisses him again with the feverish passion of a man possessed before reluctantly pulling away and murmuring, “Just one second, baby boy,” and disappears into the master bathroom. Credence turns a bright berry red as he stares at Mr. Graves’ retreating backside walking shamelessly nude from the bed.

Mr. Graves returns with a tube he tosses carelessly onto the covers right before he pounces, pinning Credence to the pillows. In the little frenzy, Mr. Graves flips him onto his belly, large hand sliding down the little bumps of his spine and the curve of his waist.

Credence panics a little, feeling bared and exposed, and he gives a soft, shocked gasp when he feels Mr. Graves’ callous-ringed fingers trail hesitating and feather-soft over the rows of old scars carved ugly white and fleshy pink down the length of his back. He squirms, trying to get away, shamed at his defects and worried about what Mr. Graves might think of the horrible raised lines Ma left on his skin.

“Credence,” Mr. Graves says haltingly, and Credence stills, tucking his face into the bracket of his arms. He can feel the tentative touch of fingers along the crosshatch marks, and he wants to _cry_ , wishing more than anything that they’re not there, that he could be perfect and unmarked for his Mr. Graves.

The next utterance of, “Credence,” is gravel rough and low, tempered with a simmering fury. Credence finally raises his head and turns as much as he’s able to look at Mr. Graves, who looks _enraged_. He quails and tries to curl in on himself, to turn so his back isn’t so exposed but Mr. Graves tightens his grip.

“Who did this to you?” Mr. Graves asks, his voice blade sharp with anger, and Credence realizes the ire is not directed towards him. Not when Mr. Graves looks up to meet his gaze with wide, horrified eyes that gentle and warm immediately when Credence gasps softly. Mr. Graves is curved over him, heavy and comforting like a blanket, pressing close until they’re cheek to cheek. “Please tell me, Credence. Who hurt you?”

Credence shakes his head. This is the last thing he wants to talk about. He doesn’t walk to think about the ugly scars anymore, doesn’t want to associate them with the feeling of Mr. Graves’ body draped over his, not when he feels so warm and safe and _good_.

“No, please don’t,” Credence begs. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it. N-not right now. Just— _please_. The only thing I want to think about is you. _Please_ , j-just touch me.”

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” is murmured into his ear after a long pause.

Credence keens and nods fervently, pushing back against Mr. Graves, swiveling his hips to feel the hard length of Mr. Graves’ cock drag against his sensitive rim. He startles when he feels the rough drag of stubble tickle down his spine as Mr. Graves presses kisses to each of the ugly marks. His lips are soft and full and gentle on the old hurts, and Credence relaxes slowly. Somehow, Mr. Graves’ worshipful touch makes him feel slightly better, a little less self-conscious, enough so that Credence is able to arch back against him, silently asking for more.

He moans softly when Mr. Graves moves away slightly and the next thing Credence feels is cool, thick slick poured onto the dip of his lower back, pooling in the dimples there, slippery and smooth between his cheeks, dripping between his thighs. He hears a stuttering inhale next to his ear.

“You’re so beautiful, Credence,” Mr. Graves breathes across his nape. “I cannot tell you that enough. _Every_ single part of you is perfect,” he says, brushing his broad palms over the scars.

Credence can feel a well of tears building behind his lids at the soft words and softer tone, but he’s distracted by the feeling of a wide thumb sliding against his pink soft rim, the sweetest bit of him, and it’s just enough to distract him from his memories and insecurities.

The touch sparks frissons of pleasure that spike through his belly, reigniting him with a ravenous kind of hunger, and he doesn't know what he expects. Maybe the sharp burn of pain as Mr. Graves bullies his way inside or the delicious weight of fingers curling and soothing against the swell of his prostate, but whatever it is, Credence _wants_ it. All of it. All of Mr. Graves.

Instead, he feels Mr. Graves gently spread his legs and nestle between, draping his big, heated frame back over Credence, and Credence _mewls,_ pinned and warm and safe _._ The warmth makes him pliant and soft, loosens his limbs, makes him relaxed, and he feels something thick, something heated like velvet over steel gently slip between his thighs, brushing firmly against the aching plush of his groin. Mr. Graves’ chest is pressed up tight and sweetly aligned with the curve of his spine, and Credence never wants to let him go as he sobs into the pillow cushioning his cheek.

“M-Mr. Graves!” he whines inconsolably at the first roll of his man’s hips, slow and tentative as if Mr. Graves really is taking Credence for the first time.

“So lovely,” Mr. Graves chokes out, and it's such a surprise, hearing his man so raw and just the slightest bit unsure. He sounds absolutely _wrecked_. “So fucking beautiful, Credence. Try and close your legs, yes, that’s my good boy.”

Credence squirms and gasps as a work-rough hand is splayed between his shoulder blades to keep him pressed low, his back arched and ass up. He feels Mr. Graves’ gentle, powerful rutting, flared cockhead brushing against the honeysweet sway of Credence’s genitals.

“Mr. Graves!” Credence feels delirious, like he's a wisp of mist that could be blown away forever by just a single word from Mr. Graves’ mouth.

“Do you like this, baby boy?”

Credence feels his curls bounce with the eagerness of his nod at Mr. Graves’ unnecessary question.

“Next time, when you're ready, flushed and needy and wanting for me, I'll fuck you, just like this.”

Credence moans, arching back against Mr. Graves’s thrusts between his thighs, wishing he would just do it now, push into Credence and make him his. He doesn't have the words to ask, so all he's able to do is rock back against the building pleasure, already hard and dripping again.

He whines when he feels Mr. Graves’ big hand wrap warm and rough around his cock. It takes only a few tugs before Credence is crying out and spilling sticky wet into Mr. Graves’ fist, his vision going white at the edges and his skin feeling like it's been electrified by lightning, his second orgasm even more intense than the first.  

“ _Fuck_ ,” Credence hears Mr. Graves mumble into the nape of his neck the same moment he feels something wet and warm spill between his thighs. Credence sighs softly, wishing that could've been inside of him, in the space where he's aching to be filled, but that'll have to wait until next time. He's content to have this for now as he slowly turns in Mr. Graves’ arms, careful not to smear their come on the duvet.

“Hello,” Mr. Graves purrs, pulling Credence close, uncaring of the mess between them.

“Hi,” Credence replies, trying to stifle his giggles and feeling slightly silly but all thoughts vanish when Mr. Graves kisses him again, soft and sweet and loving. His heart feels full to bursting as it skips several beats, feeling as though it might tap dance out of the cradle of his ribcage.


	3. Chapter 3

The last game of the season is in December, just before winter break. There's a slight chill in the air that day, different from the usual temperate warmth they're used to, and Credence uses it as an excuse to wear Mr. Graves’ jacket in public for the first time. It sends a strange thrill up his spine, to have the heavy protective layer cloaking his shoulders, as if his Mr. Graves is draped around him, a sense of ownership and belonging that Credence adores only because he knows Mr. Graves is _his_ as well.

“Isn't that dad’s jacket?” Tina asks when she sees him that morning in the hall outside of homeroom. She picks at the leather sleeve, tracing the chenille twenty-six stitched there.

“O-oh, yeah, he gave it to me when I was helping him clean the garage,” Credence tells her, nerves making his belly lurch. “We found it in one of the boxes.”

Tina hums a little before brightening. “That must mean you two are finally getting along,” she says happily. “I'm so glad! He really loves this old thing. It was his varsity letterman, you know.”

“I—yeah,” Credence mumbles, tracing the gold lines on the cuff, not quite able to look her in the eye. “It's very warm.”

“It looks good on you, Cree,” Tina reassures him with a peck on the cheek that makes his stomach roil with guilt. It's becoming a familiar feeling now.

It doesn't dissipate throughout the rest of the day, the guilt still coiled right in his stomach like a spring of nerves when Credence takes his seat on the bleachers at the start of the game next to Tina. Queenie sits on her other side and gives him a bright smile, her eyes widening slightly as they trail knowingly over the patches on his jacket, her gaze lingering on the “Graves” embroidered in cursive over his breast.

They’re well into the second quarter and their team is ahead with two touchdowns when Mr. Graves drops into the seat on the other side of Credence. He jumps slightly, blushing when he sees the heated look in Mr. Graves’ eyes as he stares at Credence wearing his jacket in public, his gaze predatory and a little proud.

“You missed most of the game, dad,” Tina complains, startling them both when she leans over to glare at her father.

Mr. Graves rolls his eyes. “Some of us have work, daughter. That's how I keep you clothed and fed.”

“But—oh, another touchdown!” she yells, jumping to her feet to cheer with the rest of the crowd, words lost in her excitement.

Mr. Graves is smiling fondly at Tina, the curve of his mouth warm with affection, and he turns that same warmth to Credence when he notices him watching, though his eyes grow darker, more heated, _hungry_. Credence spends most of the game glancing at Mr. Graves from the corner of his eye, barely paying any attention to what’s happening on the field at all. When Mr. Graves shifts closer, innocently, and covers Credence’s hand on the bleachers with his own, Credence near melts. He only comes back to himself, mildly surprised, when Tina pulls him into an enthusiastic hug at the end when their team wins.

“Afterparty time!” she cheers loudly, bouncing with excitement. “We won! We won!” Tina throws an arm around Queenie who laughs with her, and the other over Credence’s shoulder. She pulls back when he barely reacts, asking, “What’s wrong?” with a concerned look.

 _Nothing_ , is what Credence means to say, but another glance at Mr. Graves has him stuttering out, “I-I’m not feeling very well, Tina.” Another lie.

Queenie ducks out from under Tina’s arm to peer up at Credence, touching his cheek softly. “Oh no,” she gasps with all the concern of a soccer mom. “I think maybe you should take him home, Mr. Graves,” she says, blinking imploringly at him. “Credence might be coming down with something.”

“But—” Tina protests. “We’re all going to a party at Henry’s. Are you sure you can't come, Cree?”

“I-I, um,” Credence mutters, but Mr. Graves saves the day, laying a large, heavy hand on Credence's shoulder, a shoulder covered by his own letterman.

“If the boy isn't feeling well, he shouldn't go anywhere, Tina.” Credence is careful not to beam up at the man, especially when he feels a thumb edged with callouses swipe over his nape soothingly.

“Ugh, dad,” she scowls. “He has a _name_. It’s Credence. Stop calling him _boy_. You’re so condescending!” She’s glaring at her father when something catches her attention from the corner of her eye. “Oh! There’s Newt! Bye, Dad, Credence!” and Tina is sprinting across the field with Queenie in tow, bounding eagerly up to her friend, Credence and her father already forgotten.

Mr. Graves just rolls his eyes again, leading Credence gently away. “Goodbye, offspring,” he calls after Tina. “Don’t come home too late!”

“I don’t mind you calling me that,” Credence whispers softly once they’re out of earshot.

“I'm glad. I have a bit of a habit, using pet names,” says Mr. Graves, not at all bashful. “I'm sure you've noticed by now.”

Credence nods, curls bouncing shyly as he thinks of Mr. Graves’ mouth smirking around the words _‘baby boy'._ “I think it's nice,” Credence whispers, smiling brightly when Mr. Graves’ hand drops down to hold Credence's in his soft, firm grip.

Credence laughs, a little bewildered, as he's led to the parking lot and gently herded into Mr. Graves’ beautiful Corvette, leaning back against the passenger seat happily. “Where are you taking me?” he asks, watching as Mr. Graves begins to deftly pull out of the parking lot.

“That, baby boy, is a surprise.” Mr. Graves smirks as he takes Credence's hand and kisses the knuckles softly, paying special attention to the thick welted scars on his palm.

The restaurant is beautiful and softly lit, lots of sleek glass walls and beautiful black tiles and candle lit booths with gleaming silverware and waiters in incredibly expensive suits.

It looks like a dream and Credence has never been more uncomfortable in his life, dressed in his oversized letterman and washed out jeans and scuffed up Converse next to Mr. Graves, who is still wearing his three-piece suit and tie from work. When Credence steps into the foyer, he immediately tries to backpedal, only to be gently herded back inside by an amused Mr. Graves.

“Mr. Graves,” he whispers worriedly to him, shuffling his feet. “I-I don’t think—”

“Shh, baby, it’s alright.” Mr. Graves is smiling that toe-curling smile, the one Credence sees in his happiest dreams at night. “You’ll love it here, I promise. The food is wonderful.”

“But—but it’s so… And I’m not dressed…” protests Credence weakly, blushing hotly when he sees the host at the counter raising an eyebrow at them.

“That doesn’t matter,” insists Mr. Graves and Credence trembles as he feels his man cup his jaw. “Hey. Hey. I don’t care if you’re wearing three hundred dollar sneakers or ones you’ve picked up from Goodwill. I just want to have a nice meal with you, no matter how you’re dressed.” His eyes are so kind, so soft, and Credence is helpless to do anything but follow when Mr. Graves leads them up to speak with the stiff-lipped host, who suddenly blinks and relaxes at Mr. Graves in recognition.

“Ah, Mr. Graves,” he says silkily. “Your usual table, I presume?”

“Correct, Mr. Chambers,” says Mr. Graves, a devastatingly charming smile curling his mouth. “You know me so well.”

Mr. Chambers guides them to a table in the back, softly lit by candles and ensconced in soft shadows tucked in a private corner of the restaurant. Credence determinedly tries not to notice the curious, disdainful glances he gets from the other, more finely dressed patrons as he walks by them.

Mr. Chambers rattles off the recommended wine selection succinctly, detachedly polite and professional. “I’ll be sure to send over a server in a moment,” he says coolly, handing them their menus and slipping away back to the front of the restaurant.

Credence stares down at his menu. There were no prices next to the entrees and that it how he _knows_ the meals are astronomically priced. Mr. Graves is looking over the drink menu, letting out deep hums of consideration, and Credence finds himself crumpling up his nicely folded cloth napkin in distress.

Mr. Graves’ eyes flick over the table at Credence. “Everything okay, baby boy?” he asks softly and Credence nibbles at his bottom lip with nerves.

“I didn’t expect _this.”_ He waves a hand around them sheepishly, and he’s at least grateful the table is more private than others “I don’t want to embarrass you,” whispers Credence softly, wringing his hands nervously. “I-I look like some kid. And-and you deserve—”

“I deserve?” Mr. Graves shakes his head. “Deserve what?”

“Better,” admits Credence shyly. “You deserve someone you wouldn’t be ashamed of bringing to a restaurant like this—”

Mr. Graves is shaking his head again. “Credence. I would not have brought you here if I was ashamed of you in any way. I could not be prouder of you,” he says, as he trails a hand along the leather sleeve of the letterman. “If it were up to me, I would tell everyone about you.”

Credence’s mouth drops open with a soft gasp of surprise. Before he can think of a response, they’re interrupted by the server who approaches their table to introduce himself. He smiles at them politely, eyes sharpening with interest when they land on Credence, leaning closer as he sets down a small plate on the table. Credence shifts his chair closer to Mr. Graves until he’s nearly pressed up against his side, squirming in discomfort from the server’s stare.

“Good evening,” the server says silkily, still looking only at Credence. His smile is wide and salacious, all teeth. “My name is Sam and I’ll be serving you tonight. What you have before you is an amuse-bouche, courtesy of our chef. It is a lightly smoked salmon with basil reduction and black radish on brioche toast. May I start you off with drinks?”

Credence looks up at Mr. Graves for direction and sees with a some surprise, a muscle clenching in his jaw as he glowers at the server.

“Yes,” Mr. Graves says, his voice cold steel. “I'll have a Johnny Walker Blue, neat, thank you.”

“And what would your son like?” the server asks, immediately turning his attention back to Credence, who startles slightly. _Son_? “I highly recommend the house special lemonade, nonalcoholic of course. It's freshly squeezed every day with mint and agave.”

If Mr. Graves looked angry before, he looks positively livid now and Credence squeezes his hand under the table in apology. “Yes, that sounds fine,” Credence replies softly. The server backs away with a wink that sends an uncomfortable shiver down his spine.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Graves,” Credence whispers as soon as Sam leaves.

“Sorry?” Mr. Graves echoes softly, still glaring daggers at the server’s retreating back. “Why are you sorry?”

Credence chews on his lip as he grasps for the words to explain. “I-I've embarrassed you and made you angry. The waiter thinks I'm your son. He's looking at me like I'm not good enough to even sit next to you. We should go.”

“You—” Mr. Graves huffs an angry breath and tightens his hold on Credence's hand. He shifts so their entwined hands are on top of the table and leans in to brush a kiss over Credence's knuckles. “You think he's looking at you as though you don't belong here? Oh, baby boy, you misunderstand. He's looking at you like that because _he_ wants you.”

Credence’s eyes go wide with surprise. His mouth drops open to protest, but Mr. Graves shakes his head and Credence goes quiet.

“He doesn't know you're mine. _That's_ why I'm angry—he dares to presume about us, and the _way he looks at you._ Like he thinks he can take you away from me and have you all to himself.” Mr. Graves’ eyes are so dark and Credence thinks to himself that he would do anything to keep them on him forever. “Well, he can't have you.”

“O-oh,” Credence breathes, slightly overwhelmed.

That's the evil that his Ma had tried so hard to beat out of him, the sin that left scars on his back and hands. Credence wants to tell Mr. Graves and warn him that he's no good, but he can't bring himself to form the words. Not when Mr. Graves is looking at him like that, like he’s everything anyone could ever want.

Mr. Graves doesn't let go of his hand even when Sam the server returns with their drinks. He takes their orders with a subtle quirk of his brow at their clasped hands, but doesn't say a word more than is required of his job. Credence delights in the smug pride he finds in Mr. Graves’ expression and finds himself smiling shyly in return, elated that Mr. Graves likes him enough to show him off in public like this.

The knowledge that Mr. Graves _likes_ him and _wants_ him infuses Credence with warmth, even more so than the delicious food presented to him in four ridiculously decadent courses, melty fish and wild rice and bread that pulls apart when he touches it. It makes him forget, for a little while, to be self-conscious.

Halfway through the meal, Mr. Graves gets a text from Tina that she'll be spending the night at Queenie's, and Credence has to bite down hard on his lip to keep himself from asking if they could leave immediately so they can make the most of the night. They finally have a precious night together, and Credence wants so badly to be Mr. Graves’, utterly and completely, not knowing if they’ll have a chance like this again.

Mr. Graves seems to have the same idea as his hand tightens around Credence, not letting go for the entire meal and Credence revels in the small touch that means so much. The food is the most delicious and decadent Credence has ever eaten, rich on his tongue, but he barely tastes any of it, he's so distracted by Mr. Graves.

“You seem distracted, Credence.” Mr. Graves’ voice is so deep, eyes glinting over the rim of his whisky tumbler. “Everything alright?”

“Y-yes,” says Credence breathily, shakily taking in air. “Um…” He squirms. “When we’re done…” he begins, feeling bashful, “Can we go straight back home?”

Mr. Graves’ expression brightens, and Credence sighs happily as Mr. Graves lifts his hand to kiss his fingers sweetly. “Of course, baby boy. Whatever you’d like.”

Credence is thrilled, glitter-tipped butterfly wings filling up his stomach, and he can barely think straight. He’s nearly bouncing in anticipation by the end of the meal, eager to leave and hurry home.

Finally losing his patience as Sam returns to take their plates and ask if they would like to see a dessert menu, Credence blurts out, “No,” much to Mr. Graves’ amusement. “Thank you,” he hastens to add. “But, um. We should be getting home?” He looks at Mr. Graves with wide, pleading eyes.

“Of course,” says Mr. Graves softly, thumbing the corner of Credence’s mouth tenderly. “The check, if you would.”

Sam brings it speedily, moving quick under Mr. Graves’ death glare that makes Credence melt for all the wrong reasons.

“You’re so nice, Mr. Graves,” Credence murmurs in his ear as he sees Mr. Graves slip a rather generous tip into the check along with the correct payment.

“Shh,” murmurs Graves playfully, nipping at Credence’s ear. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

Credence doesn’t remember getting into the car, doesn’t even remember the drive home, but he remembers standing in the dim foyer, sneakers kicked off, soles against the cold tiles, watching with trembling breaths as Mr. Graves leans on the front door. They just look at each other for one unmoving moment with wide wondering eyes.

It’s not the first time Credence has marveled at the sheer presence of Mr. Graves. Everything about him. Credence remembers the warmth of thick arms wrapping around him, gathering him up easily, and he feels himself flush, thinks of himself like a star revolving around the great sun, the gravity impossible to escape but content to loop about in circles as long as he receives the littlest bit of attention _._

“I want you.”

Credence’s breath stutters at hearing the words, said so plainly, so simply, without romance or pretense. Mr. Graves’ voice sounds raw, like he’s been swallowing down these words for days, trying to keep them bottled up, tied close to his chest.

“I want you too,” and it’s the easiest thing to admit, rushes out of Credence in a great burst of breath. “S-so badly.”

Mr. Graves takes two steps forward, and it feels like he’s sprinted, Credence trembling before him. “I dream about you,” says Mr. Graves, throat still gravelly. “All I can think about anymore is you. All I think about are ways I can make time to see you, excuses I can make to spend time with you. All I want is to have you around always.” A breath of amusement, a thumb caressing his overripe bottom lip. Credence jumps as a hot, big hand comes up to cup his cheek.

Mr. Graves is reeling him in close, and Credence gives a soft, involuntary little noise of pleasure as his mouth is softly taken in a smooth kiss, as easy as anything. Mr. Graves’ lips are sliding along Credence’s jaw, trailing over his cheekbone to buss sweetly at his temple. Credence feels him breathe in slowly, greedily. “Fuck, you’re—you’re so _cute.”_

Credence feels the tops of his cheek go dark and hot, and he wants to bury his face in Mr. Graves’ chest. He closes his eyes, but even on the back of his eyelids, images of Mr. Graves flash by. The skin of his taut stomach and thick shoulders, strong wrists and arms and neck, all golden and warm, and Credence can’t help but compare the both of them: his own small hands on that broad chest, his cool cheek resting in the heat of the crook of Mr. Graves’ neck.

“Look at me.” Mr. Graves’ plea is soft, but firm, and Credence’s lashes flutter softly before they finally lift, and he shudders pleasantly, caught in Mr. Graves’ intense gaze. “I only want this if you want this too.”

“I-I do,” Credence barely manages to stammer, feeling as if he can only breathe, nothing else.

Strong hands cradle his face, tilting his chin up for more soft, languid kisses that make desire pool hotly in Credence’s belly, and he could just live in this moment forever, kept by this man.

When they pull away, lips parting, Mr. Graves steps back and offers Credence his hand, as if there is even a chance Credence wouldn’t take it. He tugs Credence close, and they press together, Credence giving only the quietest gasp as he hoisted up by his thighs, holding tight to Mr. Graves’ strong shoulders, nearly shaking with anticipation.

“Don’t drop me,” he mouths, nearly too nervous to say the words, but Mr. Graves feels so strong beneath him, and Credence feels like he’s floating as he’s carried up stairs and through hallways until finally they reach the cool, quiet bedroom. He’s splayed out on a soft mattress, and he immediately finds a plush pillow to clutch at, the fabric cold against his hot pinked cheeks. He feels Mr. Graves’ laughter shake the bed slightly, a big hand sliding over the curve of his belly.

“You hiding, baby?” Mr. Graves asks in his rumbling voice, and Credence shakes his head, even as he peeks up shyly over the pillow. “We don’t have to, you know. We can—”

“No!” The pillow drops away, Credence near offended. He’s waited this long, and he leans up on his wrists, drawing from courage he didn’t know he had. “I-I want to. So much. It’s just…” He chews on his lip. “What if I’m bad at it?”

Mr. Graves chuckles, leaning down to press their foreheads together. “Then we’ll just practice,” he replies with a soft curve of his lips.

Credence swallows around his nerves, his hand finding Mr. Graves’, lacing their fingers together tightly. “We’ll practice a lot,” he insists, and Mr. Graves sighs, soft and happy.

“A lot,” Mr. Graves agrees, but his eyes still on the deep, ugly etchings on Credence's palms as he turns them over in his wide hands, leftover wounds from what feels like a different age, a different person.

Credence wants to tug his hands away, wrap them up in thick gauze and hide them away. He wishes more than anything that there could be a way to erase the marks so Mr. Graves never has to see his ugliness again, never has to know the evidence that Credence is sinful, bursting with vile, grotesque urges that could turn a saint cruel—

Mr. Graves’ kiss, hot and soft against Credence's trembling mouth, drives away the cold anger, the shame that bubbled in his chest so quickly.

“Those were from my Ma,” Credence finds himself saying, the words crystallizing in his throat until he’s nearly choking on them. Because he can't keep lying to Mr. Graves, wonderful Mr. Graves who thinks Credence is perfect, when he's anything but. “The scars on my back too. They’re all proof that I’m sinful and even her best efforts can’t sav—”

“Credence,” Mr. Graves interrupts, fury creeping back into his voice and turning it rigid steel. “What your—Ma did was horrible. She’s so, _so_ wrong. You’re not _sinful_ , no more than anyone can be, and what she did to you—I won’t have you thinking any part of you is wrong or unholy. You’re exactly the way you’re meant to be. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Credence feels tears spilling down his cheeks, dripping down his temples to soak into his curls, and he gasps softly, chest tight with emotion as Mr. Graves bends and kisses the tears away. Credence slides his fingers into Mr. Graves’ thick black hair, fingering the streaks of beautiful silver at the man’s temple and says in a crackling, strong voice, “I _want_ you,” he repeats.

There's no hesitation in his voice anymore. It's not a question, it's not apologetic or timid. Mr. Graves is everything Credence wants so desperately, and he's determined for Mr. Graves to have him, wholly, completely.

Despite his determination, Credence's fingers shake when he reaches up to undo the buttons of Mr. Graves’ shirt. The row of them feel endless and all Credence wants is to press his hands against Mr. Graves’ chest and rake his fingers down the planes of muscle. Credence sighs happily once he feels skin beneath his fingertips and only reluctantly moves his hands away so Mr. Graves can push his letterman and shirt off his shoulders and help pull his pants from his legs, leaving him bare and pale and soft.

The second time he lays naked on Mr. Graves’ bed is no less intimidating than the first, and Credence shivers slightly at the way Mr. Graves’ pupils darken when he looks at him. Feeling brave, he arches up slightly against the sheets and widens the spread of his legs to bracket Mr. Graves, who groans and shifts down to press against Credence, his big hands gripping at his thighs as he leans in for a kiss, and Credence could melt under those heated, slow press of lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” Mr. Graves murmurs once he finally pulls away, and Credence flushes so fiercely, he nearly wants his pillow back. But slowly, his lids grow heavy with want and he arches slightly in encouragement, tilting his head to burrow into his own shoulder in pride-tinted pleasure, and maybe, just maybe he begins to believe his Mr. Graves.

“Touch me,” he pleads, a mist of desire settling over him, and Mr. Graves’ big hand sliding over his full cock makes him writhe in pleasure. “P-please!” He gasps, jerking a little bit as Mr. Graves palms him fully, fingertips grazing at the hot cherry head so sweetly and gently, it’s almost cruel. He wraps his arms around Mr. Graves’ neck, clutching tightly as red-edged pleasure makes his eyes brim with heat, and it’s in this pleasure, this absolute trust that he thinks for the first time _I love you, I love you, I love—_

The only thing that stops him from coming is the thought of _more,_ of being held down so sweetly, fucked so gently, and he slides his hands into Mr. Graves’ thick, dark hair and murmurs, “In me, in me, please, oh—”

And Mr. Graves is shushing him gently, “We need to work up to that,” he says, sounding as though he's barely holding himself back. Credence wants him to let go, for Mr. Graves give in fully and stop being _so painfully gentle._ The gentleness of Mr. Graves’ touch is nearly agonizing because it's not enough and Credence wants so much more.

“I-I can take it,” Credence whispers, cheeks reddening to an impossible shade. “I—,” he swallows hard, watches Mr. Graves’ eyes widen. “I use my fingers sometimes when I think of you,” Credence says, finding bravery in the way Mr. Graves is looking at him. “I-I can take three of my own now.”

Mr. Graves makes a sound in his throat that sounds like an aborted growl and nips at Credence's neck. “You can't just say things like that, baby boy,” he says lowly. “You're going to kill me.”

Credence whines and arches up into Mr. Graves’ fingers wrapped around his cock and _begs_. _Please_. I-I just— _please_.”

He almost regrets begging when Mr. Graves’ hand leaves him to reach into the nightstand. An eternity later, his hand is back, warm and slick, moving down to where Credence needs him the most. And then Mr. Graves’ finger is sliding into him and Credence wants _more_. Even just one finger makes him feel over-full, as if he could spill over at any moment, the pleasure too intense. He thrusts down on Mr. Graves’ hand, hips shaking, and gasps, “More, please, _more._ I can take it—”

Mr. Graves growls and silences Credence with a hard kiss as he slides in another finger. Two of Mr. Graves’ thick fingers already feels like more than three of his own. It feels simultaneously like too much and not enough with Mr. Graves’ tongue in his mouth and Mr. Graves’ fingers inside of him, and Credence is so, so greedy, he still wants more. He wants to be filled and claimed and marked from the inside and he moans, pushing back on the fingers thrusting in and out of him, begging again.

Three of Mr. Graves’ fingers is a deliciously hot burning stretch and Credence feels so _full._ The drag of Mr. Graves’ fingers inside of him as they move has him writhing on the sheets and arching off the bed when the fingertips graze against a spot inside of Credence that has him blinking static snow from his eyes.

“ _Please_ ,” Credence cries, already on the verge of coming and blinking back tears. “I need y-your cock in me now, Mr. Graves.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Mr. Graves gasps, sounding wrecked and breathless as he pulls his fingers out.

Credence whines slightly at the loss but he's immediately consoled when he feels the thick blunt head of Mr. Graves’ cock pressed up sweetly against him, so hot it nearly makes him flinch. It's exactly everything he wants and needs. The slow, slick slide of it pushing into him has Credence keening and clutching hard at Mr. Graves’ shoulders, trying desperately to anchor himself.

Credence feels overfull, legs trembling, mouth working soundlessly, and he thinks he might burst and fly into a million pieces under Mr. Graves’ hands, so firm and beautiful. It's too much. He doesn't know if he can take it for much longer, the sweet burn of Mr. Graves filling every space inside of him as though he'll never be empty ever again, as though Credence was made for this, was made for Mr. Graves. He babbles incoherently, unable to think, just feel, and he wants to sink into oblivion, wants to be everything Mr. Graves wants him to be.

Mr. Graves is panting harshly against his cheek by the time he's seated to the hilt, and he stills to let Credence adjust to the stretch. Credence is overwhelmed by the sensation of his Mr. Graves finally inside of him, connected in the most intimate of ways, and deliriously, Credence wishes they can stay like this forever. That they can always be so _close_.

 _I love you, I love you,_ the thought comes again, and Credence bites down hard on his lip to keep from saying the words aloud, unsure if Mr. Graves would even want to hear such a thing.

When Mr. Graves finally moves, Credence cries out, the slow, sweet drag of Mr. Graves’ cock inside of him nearly too much. He feels close already, perched on the brink of the edge when he feels the press of that thick length against the swollen spot inside of him that has him blinking back stars and tears. He makes the mistake of leaning up on his elbows to look down at where they’re connected, to see the slick flushed slide of Mr. Graves’ cock as it pushes back into him, where the pink edge of him blooms and so greedily takes Mr. Graves.

“Baby,” whispers Mr. Graves and Credence has never seen him so undone. The pomade in his hair has loosened, curling handsomely over his strong forehead, sweat budding sweetly on his brow, and his eyes are focused in on Credence rapturously. “Look at how well you take me. So tight and _perfect_ —” he breaks off, leaning down to suckle on Credence's neck, a spot of heat growing at teeth nip at his skin and Credence feels _lost._

He tips his head back against the pillows so his Mr. Graves has better access, mewling inconsolably when Mr. Graves’ hand wraps around him again, stroking with just enough perfect warm pressure, pleasure rippling through him. The firm press of his thumb against the soft head, on the spot that makes sparks of pleasure skip over his skin, brings Credence quickly closer and closer, edging him towards oblivion until he feels as though he’s falling into white light and he comes with a loud cry.

Credence can feel Mr. Graves following when he slows after a handful more harsh thrusts and muffles his yell into the skin of Credence’s shoulder. There’s a blooming warmth inside of him and he clings to Mr. Graves’ neck, reveling in the sensation.

His legs feel like jelly, his whole body boneless when Mr. Graves leaves briefly to the bathroom and returns with a warm towel to clean him up. Credence almost protests, wants to keep Mr. Graves inside of him where he belongs, but he also doesn’t want to soil Mr. Graves’ nice sheets. He’s languid and sleepy when Mr. Graves slides into bed next to him, and dimly, Credence knows he should leave and go home before he falls asleep in the warm hold of his man’s arms.

 _Five minutes,_ he thinks, closing his eyes.

He can feel the warm press of Mr. Graves’ lips against his neck, whispering, “Stay,” so Credence does, and falls asleep, warm and sated and _happy_.

Credence is eating breakfast with Mr. Graves in the kitchen when Tina comes home the next morning. He nearly chokes on his mouthful of eggs when she bursts through the door. He swallows his disappointment along with his breakfast, thinking he and Mr. Graves would have more time together before Tina got home.

Thankfully, he's dressed. Credence is wearing one of Mr. Graves’ old t-shirts and he prays that Tina won't notice.

“Morning, dad. Credence!” Tina exclaims in surprise, leaning over to peck his cheek. “I didn't expect you over so early.”

“Um,” Credence says, shoveling more food into his mouth to buy time. He squirms slightly in his chair, delighting in the secret ache from the night before. “Y-yeah, just wanted to see if you wanted to, um, maybe hang out or something,” he lies and immediately regrets his choice of words.

Credence has absolutely no intention of spending the day with Tina. He wants to spend the day with Mr. Graves. He can feel Mr. Graves stiffening next to him and more than anything, Credence wishes he can take Mr. Graves’ hand and reassure him, but Tina is watching.

She tilts her head and frowns, looking apologetic. “I'm sorry, Cree, but I said I would hang out with Newt today. Didn't I tell you? Maybe you forgot.” She's shuffling her feet, mouth thin and tense, and she keeps looking out the window, anxious.

“Oh.” Credence blinks. He did not forget. She's simply never said, and Credence wishes he can be more upset about her ditching him for another boy, but he's so happy he has more time with Mr. Graves, he can't find it in himself to care.

“I'm sorry, Cree,” Tina is saying. “I'll make it up to you, I promise.”

He nods dutifully, secretly pressing his leg against Mr. Graves’ thigh under the table. “It's okay, Tina. Don't worry about it. I'll just—help your dad around the house today.”

Mr. Graves makes a noise of acknowledgement. “I could use some help repairing the fence.”

Tina frowns, looking between the both of them with her hands on her hips. “You can't keep using Credence for free labor like this, dad,” she says disapprovingly. “And Credence, you really don't have to do anything like that.”

“I don't mind,” Credence says softly, wishing Tina would just drop the subject.

Tina is still frowning when she says, “Okay, well, I gotta go. I just came home to drop off my things and change.” She leans in for another kiss, and Credence turns his head slightly so it lands on his cheek instead of his lips. “I'll see you both later,” she says as she walks out of the kitchen.

Credence sighs in relief and nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a warm broad palm slide along the length of his thigh. He looks up shyly at Mr. Graves, who is smiling at him and feels his own lips curving in answer.

“And what would you _actually_ like to do today, baby boy?” Mr. Graves asks.

Credence feels his breath hitching in his throat and he has to lick his suddenly dry lips before he can answer. “I think I need more practice, Mr. Graves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, we've finished this fic, so we'll be posting more frequently in the near future. Thanks to everyone commenting and sharing on tumblr and being awesome! It's really appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

Credence has never gone swimming before, he tries to tell Queenie when she invites him to her birthday pool party. He has no idea how to do it. But she just laughs and hugs him before he can even get the words out, and he’s left in a whirl of confusion and an anxious little pit forming in his belly.

His foster parents don't have a pool. They live in a small ranch house on the edge of town. Their backyard is a wide expanse of weeds and unkempt grass, as far from the neat manicured lawns and glass houses housing heated pools that Tina and Queenie’s families have as can be.

There's sunlight streaming down from the glass ceilings and walls, casting everything aglow in bright light and bounces off the aquamarine of the pool water, a jewel blue that beckons. Credence dips a toe in the water wearing a pair of swimming trunks on loan from Newt, delighting in the feeling of warmth that radiates from the giant blue pool. He figures even if he isn't able to swim, he can just sit by the edge and watch his friends horse around in in the water.

Credence watches detachedly as his friends leap and cannonball into the water, content to just observe from the lounge chairs. Tina and Newt and Jacob and Queenie are in the deep end, splashing each other in a game that looks like water tag while their other friends are gliding around on floaties shaped like swans and doughnuts, sugar pink rubber tubing.

Credence drifts in and out, barely paying any attention to their ruckus as he stares up at the sky and out the glass walls to the Graves house next door. He imagines Mr. Graves watching through the glass from his own lawn and shivers slightly, wondering briefly if he can slip away while his friends are having fun in the pool.

His thoughts are interrupted by Theseus, Newt’s older brother who's back in town for winter break. He breaks out of the surface of the pool, water sloshing down his back in peals, thick red curls plastered to his forehead and a wide grin on his face. He's tan even in the winter, brown freckles like sugar dusting over the bridge of his sleek nose and sharp cheeks.

Credence remembers catching his first sight of Theseus in the school showers years ago, and Theseus has gotten much bigger since then. Gone is any semblance of teenage gangliness, replaced entirely by cut muscle and smooth freckled skin. What had set a burning fire in Credence's belly four years ago is only a tepid lukewarm now, not when compared to his Mr. Graves. His Mr. Graves who is all well-honed strength and thick lines, with the power to bring Credence willingly to his knees.  

Unaware of losing on the scales of Credence's mental comparison, Theseus leans over the tiled lip of the pool and smiles. “Why are you looking so lonely there, Barebone?” he asks, tilting his head.

Credence shrugs a bony shoulder, self conscious of his own skinniness in the face of Theseus Scamander’s thick shoulders and muscled arms. He thinks again of Mr. Graves and quickly pushes those thoughts away before his blush can manifest. He sits up in his chair and curls his too-slender arms around his knobby drawn knees, feeling small.

“I don't know how to swim,” he finally replies, wondering if his answer had taken too long.

“I'll teach you.”

Theseus’s smile only widens, a row of perfect shining pearls glinting in the bright light and beckons to Credence with an outstretched hand. Credence unfurls himself from his own compact ball slowly, reaching forward at Theseus’s coaxing and takes his hand.

Credence's hand feels small and frail in his; his bones feel brittle against the quiet strength of Theseus’s long fingers. He's tugged forward until he's standing at the lip of the pool, staring down at the glimmering blue.

“C’mon in,” Theseus invites softly, his smile turned gentle. He looks like a siren in the water, tempting Credence to step forward into the depths. “I won't let anything happen to you,” he promises, beguiling and winsome.

The first step into the warm water sends a shiver up Credence's spine, pebbles his skin, and before he knows it, he's waist-deep in the pool. Theseus leads him until he's in up to his chest and that's when Credence feels panic well up between his ribs. Instinctively, his balance pitches forward with the flow of water curling between his legs, his arms flail, and he feels like he's going to slip down between the blue and drown.

Strong arms wrap around his torso, pulling him back against a broad chest and Credence finds he can breathe again, stills beneath the strength of Theseus’s hold on him.

“I've got you,” Theseus murmurs against the shell of his ear, words fanning hot against his wet skin.

Credence shivers again and fights down the sharp-edged panic alongside the urge to push Theseus away. He desperately wants for Mr. Graves in that moment, wants the broadness of his shoulders to cling onto, the safety of his strong arms and the strength of his familiar body, not Theseus who presses too close and too intimately. He feels the bitterness of guilt crawling up his throat at the thought of Mr. Graves and carefully unwinds Theseus’s arms from around his waist and turns in the water.

“I-I think I'd rather just sit by the chairs,” Credence tells him, already clawing up and over the edge of the pool without waiting for Theseus’s reply.

Credence wraps himself up in a towel and retreats back to his chair, no longer in the mood for anything to do with swimming or water. Every once in awhile, he catches Theseus glancing at him with concern but Credence ignores him.

Queenie finds him sulking alone, and plops down on the chair next to his. Credence can barely look at her, so envious is he of her miles of soft skin and pink, heart-stamped bikini. He knows it's wrong, it's her birthday and they're supposed to be celebrating but he can't help it. He curls up tighter in his towel.

“Aw, honey,” Queenie coos sympathetically, reaching over to drape her wet arms around him, making him shiver at the icy droplets sliding down his neck. “We can't have you all alone like this. Let's all gather by the chairs and play a game.”

“What kind of game?” Credence asks, wary of the answer.

“Spin the bottle, of course!” Tina replies, making a rippling little splash as she pushes up from the side of the pool. She takes a seat on the edge of Credence's chair and tugs on his towel until he obligingly shares, draping half of it over her shoulders and letting her snuggle close.

Someone finds a bottle from the house and everyone comes out of the pool to gather round the lounge chairs. Jacob takes a seat on Queenie's other side and Newt sits across from them with his girlfriend Leta, Theseus, and Queenie's other cheerleader friends.

They take turns spinning the bottle and giggling and _ooh-_ ing over who it lands on. Credence can feel his anxiety ratcheting upwards when it gets closer and closer to his turn. He's not keen on playing this game but he doesn't want to be a bad sport, especially not when Queenie looks so eager to play in hopes of landing on Jacob, so Credence grabs the bottle gamely and spins. It lands on Theseus.

The cheerleaders erupt in a chorus of _ooh_ s and he can feel Queenie next to him nudging him slightly when he sits immobile and frozen. Credence obediently leans forward to meet Theseus halfway, expecting nothing more than a chaste peck. He's surprised by Theseus sliding his hands into his wet hair and tugging him forward to press closer until Credence is nearly across the circle and in his lap.

Theseus’s lips are burning hot against his, a slick press that has Credence itching to get away. It feels _wrong_. He jerks backwards when he feels Theseus’s tongue sneaking past the seam of his lips and he nearly wants to gag on the sensation of it. He can't help but think of his Mr. Graves, so much gentler and sweeter than Theseus’ clumsy, greedy kiss and he ignores the look of disappointment on the other boy’s face as he pulls away and returns to his seat. He's sorely tempted to wipe a hand across his mouth.

“Aw, Cree, it's just part of the game,” Tina tells him blithely and he wants to glare at her but he holds back, swallows down his bitterness like a pill and doesn't say anything.

When it's her turn, the bottle lands on Newt and Credence watches unfeelingly as his girlfriend makes out with someone else. He knows there's something very wrong when he doesn't feel burning jealousy at the sight of Newt sliding his tongue into her mouth and his hand coming up to cup the bottom of Tina’s breast. Credence can see Leta glaring viciously from the other side of the circle but the only emotion he feels at the moment is the urge to get away and run next door.

As though sensing what he's thinking, Queenie breaks up Tina and Newt’s makeout session with a quiet, “okay, Teeny. Turn’s over. I'm next.”

Credence tunes out the rest of the game, thankful the bottle doesn't land on him again.

He finds himself growing more and more agitated, huddled in his towel, barely hearing Tina’s giggling with Newt and the new game of ‘would you rather’ that's just started.

What right did Theseus have to try and slip his tongue into Credence's mouth? Without even knowing him? Credence shudders, reliving it, and his chest aches, soft and longing for his Mr. Graves. Credence just wants to curl up in his thick muscled arms, wants his soft gravel voice telling him everything will be alright. He doesn't want teenage boys clinging at him or licking into his mouth, trying to make him feel good when he already has his Mr. Graves, when he doesn't need them.

He tries not to brood about it for long, not as Mrs. Goldstein brings out cheesy pizza and a pink, strawberry ice cream cake with the corresponding number of candles on it. It's a grand thing and Credence cheers as loudly as the rest of their friends as Queenie leans in and blows out the seventeen little flames.

He accepts a piece of cake and for all intents and purposes was planning on retreating with his friends to the lounge chairs, when he feels a warm hand on his shoulder gently getting his attention.

He turns and finds a sheepish Theseus rubbing at his neck. “Wanted to say sorry, is all,” he says, shrugging. “Didn't mean to startle you like that.”

Credence wishes hard that he was like Queenie, who told off boys with sticky, gropey hands on a daily basis and made sure they didn't get away with it. “It just felt weird,” he mumbles finally. “I didn't like it—I have someone, you know. I just—you didn't even warn me.”

Theseus looks stricken. “I'm—I’m sorry, Credence. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Okay, Theseus. Just forget it. It's fine.” Credence moves away and sits with the birthday girl. He looks down at his cake and eats a bite of melty ice cream, sweet berries on his tongue, knowing Theseus is looking at him and wanting.

When Queenie claps her hands and declares it time to head inside for movies and popcorn, the sun is sinking down into the horizon and streaking the sky fiery with flame-like swaths of red and orange. Credence stands obligingly and drags his feet unfeelingly, shivering and smelling like sharp chlorine.

“Hey, Credence.” Queenie’s voice is soft and kind and a balm to his anxieties. She takes his hand near the back porch door as Tina hollers about Star Wars IV or V, _just pick one!_ “Be a doll? I think I left my favorite lipgloss at Tina’s house. Could you get it for me, pretty please?”

Credence immediately perks up brightly—his chance to escape for a little bit and find refuge with Mr. Graves. “I can,” he says, too eagerly. “I mean, it wouldn't be a problem.”

But Queenie just smiles, slow and knowing, and Credence flushes pink as she whispers conspiratorially, “Go on. I forgot where I put it. Might take a while to find it.”

He looks down bashfully before quickly heading back outside, trekking barefoot next door, feeling silly that he's not wearing a shirt even as he slips in the key Mr. Graves had given him ages ago, and steps into the foyer.

“Mr. Gra—” but he's barely able to open his mouth before there are warm hot hands pinning him by his wrists against the door, Credence's gasp swallowed up by a hard, hungry mouth that is everything he wants, everything he needs. Kissing Mr. Graves isn't a fight, it's a surrender, and Credence melts into it, pliant and giving and dazed, hair mussed and lips swollen-plump when Mr. Graves finally pulls away.

“I saw you kissing that boy,” he says, and it takes Credence a moment to register that Mr. Graves is shaking. There's a flush of rage on his face, a little crease between his brows that speaks of great distress. “I saw you _kissing_ him—”

“I hated it,” Credence whispers, nearly spitting the words out, an evil feeling of power, of influence welling up in his belly. Like he could get this man to do anything with a flash of his peachy inner thigh or a murmur of beestung mouth. “He kept following me around at the party. But all I wanted was you.”

Mr. Graves gives a low broken noise and smothers Credence with another passionate kiss, this one with tongue, and it's not disgusting like the one with Theseus was. It feels so _right,_ Credence small and fragile beneath Mr. Graves’s bulk, the sweet give and take of the kiss making his cock fill with hot blood, and he whimpers when Mr. Graves cups his groin.

“You're so fucking beautiful, I can't even blame him.” Mr. Graves’ words are a despairing whisper against his neck, and Credence pants deeply as his borrowed swim trunks are tugged off of his sharp hips, leaving him dewy and pink and wet before a still-clothed Mr. Graves. “I'm—” a hand cups his ass, squeezing possessively. “Credence, I'm _obsessed_ with you. I think of you day and night, how you are everyone else's, even my daughter’s….”

Credence sobs, desperately clinging to the broad shoulders that make him feel so protected and safe. “No, no, I'm yours!” He kisses Mr. Graves’ face with fervent, eager little pecks, everywhere, his mouth, his nose, his cheeks and jaw. “Just yours.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Mr. Graves mutters, hitching Credence’s legs around his waist, Credence clinging to him with a soft whine, and walking them to the living room couch. Mr. Graves plops down inelegantly, nearly falling back onto the cushions. Credence moans happily as he nestles his weight in Mr. Graves’ lap, gasping when Mr. Graves settles him to meet his clothed erection, rubbing against the soft smooth skin between Credence’s thighs.

“This is what you do to me, baby boy,” Graves growls, biting at Credence’s neck, taking the skin gently between his teeth and worrying it slightly, possessively. Credence squirms, panting, near crying at the sparks of pleasure that skip across his skin, and wishes Mr. Graves could bite down and mark up his neck. “Do you feel how hard I am? Do you? This is all for you.”

Credence nods frantically, fingers working clumsily at Mr. Graves's fly, desperately trying to reach skin. He sighs in relief when his fingers finally wrap around Mr. Graves's thick length, a familiar weight in his palm, hot like a brand, the thick fog of lust clouding his mind receding slightly.

Mr. Graves groans and tosses his head back against the cushions when Credence moves his hand, wrapping his fingers a little tighter around him. His slender digits barely fit around the girth of him, a slight struggle until Mr. Graves wraps his own bigger hand around them both. Credence can feel Mr. Graves’s shudders as he thumbs at the wet hot slit, suddenly overcome with the temptation to have that big cock in his mouth.

Mr. Graves makes another low broken noise when Credence slides like a cat off his lap and sinks to his knees on the rough carpet. Credence nuzzles needily into Mr. Graves’ muscular thigh, gasping a little when strong fingers slide into his still-wet curls. “Mr. Graves,” whispers Credence before he leans forward to lap softly along the thick length, little kitten licks that make Mr. Graves groan. His slick mouth closes around the head of Mr. Graves's cock, and the man’s hips jerk up sharply as he looks down at Credence.

Mr. Graves looks utterly _wrecked,_ hair a mess, cheeks flushed with anger and lust, and his eyes are blown dark with desire. “You sweet, sweet thing,” he says hoarsely, almost accusing.

Credence is enthusiastic at his task, hands wrapping around what he can't fit in his mouth, lips stretched obscenely around Mr. Graves's girth as he sucks. He can feel the wide tip leaking a dark, bitter flavor over his tongue, and he goes a little too quickly in his eagerness, choking just slightly as the head bumps against the back of his throat. It’s a thick heavy weight that Credence struggles with, casting lashes wet with tears to blink up at Mr. Graves, who’s looking at him with pure disbelief. He’s barely gotten the whole thing in his mouth, swallowing slowly around the width of it when Mr. Graves pulls at Credence to climb back into his lap, his mouth popping off with a slick, lewd little noise that makes Credence squirm.

“Oh baby,” Mr. Graves coos, pressing his thumb against Credence's swollen bottom lip, and Credence can’t help but flick his tongue out to swipe at the finger, leaning forward to take the whole thing into his mouth as Mr. Graves's breath hitches in his chest. “I'm going to fuck you so hard you're going to feel me for days. You'll remember who you belong to,” he growls, bringing his other hand down hard against Credence's bottom in a sharp slap that echoes in the empty room.

Credence's trembling sob is whisper-soft at the sweet sting and he's already shaking with need as he rocks back against Mr. Graves's cock, where it nestles sweetly against the sensitive skin of his crack. “Just yours,” he repeats desperately as Mr. Graves’s hand comes down again, giving a low cry, arching his back into the pain needily.

Credence is sure there’s a handprint on the globe of his ass now, angry and red and hot like a brand, and he relishes the thought of being _marked_. He wishes the others could see, wishes _Theseus_ could see, this is who Credence really belongs to.

And then spit-slick fingers are pressing against his heated rim, pushing in, two at first, but even with the sweet, lovely stretch, it doesn’t feel like enough. He rises to his knees to give Mr. Graves better access and Credence whines softly until he adds a third finger, his Mr. Graves chuckling darkly against the shell of Credence’s ear, “So hungry for this, aren’t you, baby boy?”

Credence barely has the coherence to nod, feeling blissed out on the fullness of the fingers inside of him, stretching him open for Mr. Graves’s cock. All too soon, the fingers are gone and he feels so _empty_. He’s shivering in anticipation for what’s next, aching to be filled by Mr. Graves.

The feeling of Mr. Graves's spit-slick cock pushing into him is almost too much. There's not enough slick to ease the slide but Credence relishes it all the same as he feels every inch dragging against his inner walls, full and heavy and thick. The delicious pleasure-pain is near overwhelming and he gasps at the sensations, at once too much and not early enough, and he shakes like a leaf in Mr. Graves’ grip.

Mr. Graves is panting as he slowly lowers Credence onto his cock, inch by inch, slow and gentle despite his earlier promises. His breath is ragged and harsh as he grits his teeth, Credence can feel him trembling with the restraint to keep from pushing Credence down into his lap to the hilt with no warning.

There’s a time where Credence wants his soft, sweet Mr. Graves making love to him, murmuring praise in breathless whispers, slow and thick like honey on cream. But this is not it. He wants the fullness and the wet stretch and pink gape and the good soreness the next morning, and he wriggles his hips, demanding for more, gasping in delight when he sinks down that littlest bit.

“Mr. Graves,” he whispers, throat full of tears. “Sir, _please.”_

Mr. Graves gives a low, hungry growl that Credence can feel rumbling in his chest, and the grip on his hips loosens and Credence gives a soft little howl as he sinks down those last few inches, his Mr. Graves rooted deep and thick in him. He feels weightless, a feather floating dreamily on a breeze, especially when Mr. Graves begins to bounce him up and down on his fat cock, and Credence _mewls._

“I thought about this when I first met you,” Mr. Graves admits breathlessly. “Even then, you were so fucking beautiful. And I wanted you so badly, wanted to steal you away from Tina, away from everyone else and keep you to myself.” Slick, wet noises ring out as he grinds slowly into Credence’s heat.

Credence gasps when Mr. Graves slides his big hand over Credence’s hard cock, a full pink stripe over his belly, leaking honey and want. “M-Mr. Graves,” he pleads softly as he’s stroked slowly in a dry palm, from root to tip. He’s smaller than his Mr. Graves, but he’s slim and willowy everywhere and so he’s proportional, like his man, who is broad and strong and tall and _thick_.

“Eager baby,” whispers Mr. Graves as he fucks in harder, fingers bruisingly tight on Credence’s sharp hips.

Credence nods rapidly in agreement, lashes soaked, cheeks flushed and wet.  “Uh-huh,” he gasps out at the end of a strong thrust. “O-only for you!”

“Only for me,” Mr. Graves echoes with a harsh growl. He pushes up into Credence until he’s full to the brim, feeling as though he’s being split in half on Mr. Graves’ cock, but he still desperately wants more, wants Mr. Graves to mark him from the inside, to be full of his come until he's dripping filthy with it.

Mr. Graves must’ve heard him, because his hips snap up faster as he pulls Credence down on his lap, pounding into him with harsh thrusts that echo with the obscene slap of their skin. Mr. Graves’ cock grinds mercilessly against the spot inside of Credence that has him seeing stars, brushing repeatedly against it on every upstroke. His hand reaches down to take hold of Credence's cock again, stroking the rough pad of his thumb against the head until Credence comes with a loud cry. Mr. Graves follows soon after, filling him with delicious warmth.

Credence squirms when Mr. Graves tries to lift him off his lap, moaning softly in distress and clamping his legs tight. “Gotta clean you up, baby,” Mr. Graves murmurs against his temple.

Credence whines, “No, I want to keep it. I want to still feel you when I go back to the party.”

Mr. Graves curses and Credence giggles at the colorful obscenity before Mr. Graves pulls him down for another kiss, lingering and sugar sweet. “You're going to be the death of me, I swear,” Mr. Graves sighs against his cheek.

Credence forces himself to walk back to Queenie’s home on wobbly legs before he succumbs to the urge to burrow in Mr. Graves’ arms and fall asleep. He smiles to himself as he feels the warm drip trickling slowly down his leg as he crosses the lawn between both houses, feeling as though he's won some small victory of sorts, to be able to keep a part of Mr. Graves with him. He can feel his man’s eyes between his shoulders, watching protectively as he walks, and he feels as if he could float on air, thighs aching, belly trembling, so satisfied he wants to curl up and doze like a kitten in the sun.

But its Queenie's birthday and so he lets himself in through the front door, hoping he doesn't look too flushed. His cheeks heat up tellingly again when Queenie gives him a long look as he stands, hovering, in the circle between her and Tina. They're all seated on the living room rug now, preparing for another round of games.

“I'm sorry, Queenie,” Credence whispers to Queenie. “I couldn't find your lip gloss.”

Queenie gives him a wide smile and shakes her head. “It's okay, Credence. No worries! We're about to play truth or dare now, so you came back just in time.”

“Oh, okay.” Credence has to carefully take his seat, perching tentatively on the floor, thick white slick seeping into the fabric of his swim trunks. He tries to adjust his towel beneath him so not to ruin Queenie’s rug and blushes, squirming a little. He's irrationally pleased that he's gotten away with something so sinful.

The game starts out rather simple, people mostly picking truth and having to admit their first crush, their first time. Credence is beginning to relax slight when one cheerleader picks dare and a smug-mouthed boy dares her to take off her top. The crowd oohs and someone laughs, and Credence shifts uncomfortably.

Katie doesn’t look at all ashamed as she slides off her t-shirt, casual in her rainbow bikini top. “I was in this all afternoon,” she says, unimpressed, and the boy wilts a little as the group snickers at him.

Credence picks at the corner of his towel nervously as Newt is made to strip down to his swimming briefs and point out each of his scars, explaining how he got each of them. It’s a long list of interesting stories and distant places, and Tina keeps ahhing in amazement, sometimes even sliding her fingers over his arms and abs to feel where a chinchilla had bitten or a lizard had clawed. Leta looks furious, and Credence feels a sort of distant, unempathetic pity for her for having a boyfriend who is obviously growing more and more distant from her.

“And what about you, Credence?” Theseus is smirking at him, recovered from the scolding he’d gotten earlier. Credence looks up at him with slightly narrowed eyes as the older boy goes on, “Truth or dare?”

Credence doesn’t particularly feel like stripping for Theseus’ enjoyment or being coaxed into giving Queenie a lap dance like one of the football boys had eagerly done, so he says quietly, “Truth.”

“No fun,” complains Theseus, and Credence feels a pang of irritation in his gut that makes him just want to leave. “Hm.” His eyes glitter brightly and Credence can’t deny the older boy is handsome when he smirks at him and asks slowly, “So Credence. What’s the oldest you’d date?”

Credence swallows a little as Henry gives a cruel little laugh. “Fishing for yourself, huh, Scamander?”

Everyone turns and looks at Credence expectantly, even as Theseus shrugs and gives a not-so-innocent smile. “Well?”

“I-I haven’t really thought about it,” murmurs Credence shyly, looking down at his fingers clenching in his towel. “I—don’t suppose age really matters. As long as I like them and they like me….” He thinks of Mr. Graves, the creases around his smiling eyes, the beautiful streaks of silver shot through his temples, the strength of his experienced hands, the expertness of his kisses. “I think I’d be okay with any age, if there’s love.”

“Wow, Credence,” says Katie in bewilderment. “That’s—that’s a bit optimistic, don’t you think? I mean, dating college kids when you’re still in high school is a little skeezy. They’re only after one thing, after all.”

Credence blanches. “W-well, it d-doesn’t—I wasn’t—”

“Oh, don’t listen to her, Credence. That’s bull.” Queenie comes to the rescue. “My mama’s ten years older than my dad, and they’ve been together for more than a quarter of a century. Age doesn’t mess up relationships, people do.”

Leta shrugs, eyes hard. “Doesn’t matter anyways. Credence is with _Tina.”_

Newt looks as if he’s been gutted, and Tina smiles at Credence, mouth twisting a little tensely.

“Yeah, he is,” admits Tina, even as Theseus’ mouth twists with displeasure. “And we’re the same age. So, leave the hypotheticals out of it.” She seems to draw her shoulders up defensively as she takes Credence’s hand in his and firmly doesn’t look at Newt.

Queenie’s parents graciously allow many of Queenie’s closer friends to stay overnight, though a couple of the teenagers leave an hour or so later. The boys are bedded down in the Goldstein basement, mattresses and sleeping bags piled on the floor. Credence has freshly showered and is just slipping underneath the covers when Newt taps him on the shoulder.

Credence doesn’t quite know what to think of Newt, to be quite honest. It would be hypocritical of him to censure the other boy for neglecting his girlfriend, when only a few hours ago Credence was being enthusiastically fucked by his girlfriend’s father. But he doesn't quite want to be friends with him either, so he looks up at Newt and tries to keep his face expressionless.

“I—I’m sorry. About the thing with Theseus,” says Newt sheepishly scratching at his neck. “He doesn’t mean any harm.”

“It's fine really,” Credence mumbles, and busies himself with his blankets. “You don't have to apologize for your brother.” He shrugs awkwardly, hoping Newt would just drop the subject.

Newt gives him a long look, eyes not quite meeting his own, head tilted and expression chagrined, almost guilty, and Credence knows it runs deeper than any secondhand guilt from Theseus’ actions. But Credence doesn't want to acknowledge the elephant in the room; it would be crass. He knows it's about Tina, but Credence is too tired to care anymore.

And the more time Tina spends with Newt, Credence finds himself thinking guiltily as he slips under the covers, the more time Credence gets to spend with his Mr. Graves.

 


	5. Chapter 5

His foster parents haven't been able to afford to send him on the overnight school trip yet again.

Credence would be much more upset about missing the trip if he didn't have his Mr. Graves. But unlike the previous years when he had looked on in envy at the other kids piling into chartered glass-wall buses to be taken away on a grand adventure, Credence has a much more exciting weekend to look forward to this time.

After waving his friends onto the bus Friday morning with Tina promising to return with a souvenir, Credence lets himself into Mr. Graves’ house after school, near quivering with excitement. He fully intends to make full use of the next several days, no more sweeping into corners to steal kisses and murmured words of admiration. They won't have to hide for one precious weekend.

Credence sighs happily in anticipation as he looks about the house and decides to make himself useful while he waits for Mr. Graves to come home from work. He begins tidying up little piles of books and magazines he finds strewn all over the living room and wiping down the dust he finds in the shelves and corners.

With everything spick and span, Credence retreats upstairs, thinking to shower and clean up while he waits, but he hesitates as he passes Tina’s door. He thinks of that day in her room when his hand was pressed against her breast beneath her pretty blue bra and all he could think about was what it would feel like to have that silk and lace against his own skin. He's turning the handle of the door before he realizes what he's doing, the click of the lock opening ringing softly in the empty house.

With nerves bubbling high in his throat and guilt beating wings against his stomach, Credence tiptoes forward until he reaches Tina’s dresser. Her underwear drawer is already opened, saving him from having to gather his courage, and he reaches in with tentative hands, quiet as a thief, and pulls out the prizes hidden between the drawers. He finds silky scraps of fabric that are cool to the touch and delicate slips of lace that tickle his fingers, each more and more beautiful than the last.

Credence finds it at the back of the treasure trove of pretties, the piece that makes his breath stick in his throat and his chest feel too tight. It's a gorgeous slip of a thing made of a delicate black lace and silk straps, the little triangle cups gossamer thin and nearly transparent. He holds the bra between reverential fingers, thumbing across the swirls of intricate detail, and wonders how it would feel on his skin, his chest, his nipples.

Slowly, Credence slips out of his clothes until he's down to his ratty old boxer briefs. He holds the pretty black bra up against his chest, barely daring to look at his own reflection in Tina’s enormous mirror. The sight of the black fabric against his skin sets a fire burning low in his belly. As though entranced, Credence finds himself slipping his thin arms into the loop of the delicate straps, pulling the little lace cups taut against his flat chest and reaching back to fumble with the tiny clasp.

When Credence turns back to the mirror, he finds himself unable to look away. He runs his hands over the flat planes of his chest decorated in black, feels the press of his hard nipples against the silky underside of the lace triangles and revels in the sensation of having this. His hollow chest looks more narrow in the little black bra, his collarbone less prominent, his skin a stark contrast against the dark lace _._

Credence digs for the matching panties and pulls those on too, gasping slightly at the sensation of the lace and silk cupping around his swelling cock. He feels deliciously sinful in the gorgeous underthings. He feels desirable and delicate and _pretty_ and he wonders idly what Mr. Graves would think if he knows the true extent of Credence's depravity. That this is what Credence truly craves, to be bedecked in gorgeous soft things and to feel beautiful.

He should take them off before he's found out, Credence knows. Mr. Graves would surely think he's a horrible deviant if he sees Credence like this, wearing his daughter’s lingerie, and throw him out of the house and their lives forever.

He's slipping the little straps off his shoulders when a warm presence presses itself tight against his back. Credence gasps, looking up in the mirror to find Mr. Graves behind him, big hands coming up to to frame the curve of his ribs, palms hot like a brand against his skin.

Mr. Graves tucks his chin in the space between Credence's neck and shoulder, staring intently at his reflection in the mirror, eyes dark and heated with desire or anger, Credence does not know. Credence can feel the rasp of Mr. Graves’ stubble dragging along the tender skin of his shoulder, sandpaper rough and just the right amount of friction to make Credence whimper softly and pebble his skin.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Mr. Graves asks lowly, voice sounding tight.

Credence panics. He knows he shouldn't have done it, shouldn't have given into these horrible wants. He tries to struggle out of Mr. Graves arms, to remove the incriminating lace, but Mr. Graves’ hands tighten around him, splaying across his sides and slowly traveling down to cup the crest of his hips. Credence bites back a moan at the sensation, skin heating along the path of Mr. Graves’ hands and wonders if he'll be punished and thrown out now.

Mr. Graves surprises him by saying, “You look gorgeous like this, princess.”

The words send a frisson of heat straight down Credence's belly and he squirms in Mr. Graves’ tight grip. A soft little whine escapes from between his berry lips in shock at the name and his head tips back against Mr. Graves’ shoulder, Credence shifting backwards to feel an answering hardness pressed up against his soft bum.

Mr. Graves raises one of his hands to grip at Credence's chin, gently coaxing him to look back into the mirror. “Look at you, sweetheart. So fucking beautiful,” Mr. Graves murmurs, and Credence’s eyes obediently flick upwards to see.

Oh, what a pretty picture they make, Credence decorated in black lace, flushed pink and gasping, his thin chest rising and falling beneath the hairthread flowers and filigree, cock filling out underneath the tiny swatch of the panties. Mr. Graves is tucked up tight behind him, big hands possessively gripping at his hips, eyes dark and heady and staring directly at Credence in their reflection.

“You should’ve told me,” Mr. Graves continues, leaning in close to press his words against Credence’s trembling neck. “I would’ve bought my princess all the pretty things his heart desires.”

Credence doesn’t think he could get any redder, and he lowers his eyes as he asks shyly, “You—you don’t think it’s—it’s weird?”

Mr. Graves makes a soft, indignant noise, as if Credence has said something ridiculous. “Weird?” he whispers, dragging his lips over the smooth line of Credence’s neck. “What’s weird about feeling beautiful?”

Credence gives a low cry as one of Mr. Graves’ large, rough hands slides over his belly and presses against the fullness between his thighs. “M-Mr. Graves!” He feels hot everywhere, cheeks flushing darkly, a rush of shame and guilt and pleasure welling up inside of him, the pure feeling of the lingerie on his skin combined with Mr. Graves’ lips on him overwhelming. “The—the panties! I’ll ruin them!”

Mr. Graves gives a soft little purr, as if relishing the idea of Credence making a mess all over them. “We can’t have that, can we?”

Before Credence can even take a breath, he’s on his back on the bed, _Tina’s_ bed, trembling softly, thighs splayed open wide as Mr. Graves ducks down to slowly pull the black fabric down his legs, a soft whisper of lace against his smooth skin.

“Gorgeous,” Mr. Graves murmurs, kissing softly at Credence’s hip.

Credence gasps at the wet flicker of tongue as Mr. Graves’ mouth slides along his navel. He reaches down impulsively to push his hands through Mr. Graves’ thick dark hair, closing his grip to feel the strands between his fingers. He wants to see his man as mussed and undone as he feels already.

“Please,” Credence begs, feeling the familiar tears welling up in his eyes. He doesn’t know why sex with Mr. Graves is always so intense, pleasure rattling him until he can’t help but sob and squirm.

“I know, princess,” Mr. Graves whispers, insistently taking hold of Credence’s long legs and sliding them over his shoulders, his breath warm on the inside of Credence’s thigh. “I know, just stay still for me now, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“Ye-es,” gasps Credence as his Mr. Graves mouths wetly at the tip of his cock. “Oh—oh, _please,_ I’ll be so good, I promise—” but the rest of his words vanish and slide away as he jerks up uncontrollably when the plump, cherry-ripe head of his cock is swallowed into perfect, tight heat that vanishes just as quickly as it comes.

“N-no!” Credence feels tears streaming down his cheeks and he clutches at Mr. Graves’ hair needily. But still, he doesn’t move to touch his cock himself. That’s Mr. Graves’ alone. “More—”

“I told you to stay still, didn’t I?” murmurs Mr. Graves, voice dark and thick, and his grip grows tight on Credence’s thighs. He hopes there will be bruises there later, blooming like violets to decorate his skin.

“Y-you did,” whispers Credence, sniffling, and Graves gives a low, soft croon.

“Oh, princess. I’m here.” His big hands move to Credence’s hips, pinning him in place. “Is this better? Me making sure you can’t move?”

“Yes, yes!” Credence twines his legs tighter around Mr. Graves, delicate ankles locking together, and he squirms, gasping when he finds he has no leverage to get very far. “Oh…” he keens desperately. “ _Please_.”

“I know, I know.” And then Mr. Graves doesn’t speak anymore, his mouth full of honey-dripping, warm Credence. It feels so good, so hot and wet, like Mr. Graves is everywhere around him. Credence’s eyes roll back as he feels warmth sweep through him, a desperate, gold-tinted pleasure humming in his throat.

“Oh! S-so good,” he whispers reverently, and it’s strange, because Mr. Graves is knelt between his thighs, looking up at him with a dark, hungry gaze, mouth moving slow and wet. And yet, it feels like Credence is worshiping _him,_ not the other way around. Like every tight sobbing breath, every flutter of his lashes, and every curl of his hips is utterly sacred and completely devoted to Mr. Graves.

He wants to pull Mr. Graves up with the tips of his fingers, wants to slide his work shirt off of his wide, lovely frame. He wants to nip and lave at every well-formed muscle and inch of smooth skin he can reach, wants to leave marks on Mr. Graves’ skin too. But all he can do is throw back his head and shudder as he spills sweetly between Mr. Graves’ lips. It’s an unearthly pleasure, and Credence imagines stars gathering in the fan of his lashes and on the dip of his mouth and sweeping like grit through his bones.

“My beautiful Credence,” Mr. Graves murmurs against his collarbone, pressing soft kisses into the dip at the base of his neck.

Credence lays gasping, languid and boneless against the soft blue ruffled sheets. He's still trying to catch his breath when he feels Mr. Graves dipping back between his legs, tongue sliding slippery rough from the base of his cock, down the middle of his sac, and lower, past his taint to dip wetly into the tight furl of his hole. He's so surprised by the sensation, his hips buck up of their own accord, even with Mr. Graves’ hands holding him down.

“M-Mr. Graves!” Credence exclaims, scandalized, voice shuddering into a moan when the tongue flattens to lick a broad stripe against him before pushing back in, slick and wet.

This is a new kind of pleasure. If Mr. Graves’ mouth around his cock is a gold-tinted hum of stardust, Mr. Graves’ tongue inside of him is silver-edged darkness, filthy and so, so _delicious_.

Time seems to stop when Mr. Graves is settled between his legs like this, until all Credence knows is sensation. His grip on his own thoughts is fragile at best, his mind swirling with the unbidden urge to confess again— _I love you I love you I love you,_ and he has to bite hard on his tongue to keep his words in his throat.

Credence is oversensitive, his cock flushed red hard already and on the verge of coming again when Mr. Graves pulls away, pressing a kiss against the softest part of his thigh. Credence whines at the loss, desperate to have Mr. Graves on him again when he hears the metallic pull of a zipper and the shuffle of fabric. He smells the soft sweet perfume of Tina’s strawberry lotion.

And then Mr. Graves is back, his big hand sliding beneath the bra to thumb at the little nub of Credence's nipple, rolling it between his fingers as the blunt head of his thick hard cock pushes slick and slow into Credence inch by burning inch.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Mr. Graves gasps as he’s seated to the hilt. “Just _look_ at you. Do you have any idea what you do to me, precious boy?”

Credence arches against him, tears burning hot at the corners of his eyes again as he shakes his head frantically. He just wants to be closer. Wants everything, anything Mr. Graves would give him.

Credence grasps desperately at the blue ruffles beneath him, fingers clutching and wrinkling Tina’s sheets as Mr. Graves grinds into him, harsh and possessive. He pulls Mr. Graves down for a kiss, trying to get as close as possible. It's a filthy wet slide of lips and tongue, and Credence can taste himself on Mr. Graves, a dark heady flavor that has his head spinning.

Each relentless thrust of Mr. Graves’ cock drags against the sweet spot inside of Credence that has him blinking stardust from his eyes as he keens low in his throat. He moans softly, arching his neck in offering as Mr. Graves sucks at the delicate skin, slowly working his way down to Credence's nipples, worrying them between his teeth one at a time. It's almost too much, every sensation sharp and intense.

Credence comes, cock untouched, clenching hard around his Mr. Graves, his name tumbling from swollen red lips like a prayer dipped in silver and gold. Mr. Graves soon follows with a harsh cry, his teeth closing around a spot on Credence's neck and filling him to the brim with liquid heat. Credence reflexively curls his legs around Mr. Graves’ hips, not wanting to be parted from him, even as he lays boneless and sated on the bed.

He's only vaguely aware of being cleaned and carried back to Mr. Graves' room where he's gently tucked into bed. There's a soft brush of lips to his dark curls, strong arms wrapping around his waist and a thick chest pressing up against his back as Credence falls asleep.

One of the best memories Credence has is waking up that morning. His eyes are still heavy with sleep as he flutters them open, and at first he doesn't know where he is. The mattress is so much softer than his own saggy boxspring, and he blinks in confusion at the strange walls around him before he recognizes them. He feels the heavy arm slung possessive and sweet over his waist, feels Mr. Graves’ mouth pressed up against his nape, and shivers in delight.

Credence turns carefully in Mr. Graves’ grip and blushes to find his man already awake, eyes liquid and hungry watching him. Mr. Graves draws Credence close to his furry dark chest with no hesitation, the thick hair soft against Credence's plump nipples.

“You always blush,” Mr. Graves whispers into the quiet, trailing his fingers over the soft curve of Credence's cheek. His words just make Credence go pinker and he feels the chuckle rumble through Mr. Graves’ chest against him. “I love it,” his man admits. “That you'll always be so good no matter what I do.”

Credence curls in shyly, hiding his burning cheeks in the crook of Mr. Graves’ neck. “I like what you do,” he admits, hands curling on Mr. Graves’ chest and he smiles when he hears his man’s soft laughter, feels the rumble beneath his fingertips as a kiss is pressed to the curls at his temple.

Mr. Graves smiles, crow-feet deepening handsomely around his eyes, and he leans in and this time the kiss is so soft, it makes Credence melt even quicker than the most desperate rounds of sex. He whimpers softly, protesting when Mr. Graves begins to slide away.

“Come back,” Credence murmurs, too dazed from the kiss to feel any embarrassment about being needy or clingy.

“I’ll be right back, baby boy,” whispers Mr. Graves, trailing his mouth like swirls of fire over Credence’s shoulders. “I’m just going to make you something to eat.” He nudges Credence’s nose with his, looking more relaxed than Credence has ever seen him before. “You just stay here and I’ll be back before you miss me.” Mr. Graves slides out from beneath the blankets after another lingering kiss, pausing briefly to pull on a pair of sleep pants much to Credence’s disappointment, and he’s out the door before Credence can pull him back into bed.

Credence takes the opportunity to slip into the bathroom as he hears Mr. Graves clanging pots and pans around downstairs, startling when he looks in the mirror. Purple-berry bruises are splashed lividly on his collarbone and necklacing his throat prettily, love marks from Mr. Graves’ lips. He looks _wild,_ his hair a riot of black curls, his nipples plumped from being nibbled at and pinched so passionately. He touches his mouth with his fingertips, bewildered—his lips look swollen and ruddy red, the kisses bruising him in the sweetest of ways. He pulls away from the mirror, suddenly shy at the sight of himself, looking ravished in the light.

Mr. Graves has always been so careful not to leave marks, and it is a shock to Credence that he would do something so bold. That Mr. Graves would make something semi-permanent on his skin.

Credence washes and brushes his teeth quickly with a spare toothbrush, trying to fruitlessly tame the thick curls that drip into his eyes. He quickly gives up, realizing it’s a futile effort when his hair stays stubbornly tangled and hurries back to the bedroom before Mr. Graves returns. He’s just about to clamber back onto the mattress when Mr. Graves walks in holding a heavily laden breakfast tray.

“I thought I told you to stay,” murmur Mr. Graves, leaning in to kiss Credence possessively on the lips.

Credence laughs softly. “I needed to pee!”

“Mmhm. Likely story,” says Mr. Graves, before grinning down at his boy. “Get back in bed! It’s not breakfast in bed if you’re on your feet.”

“Okay, okay,” giggles Credence as he slips back under the warm covers, watching Mr. Graves pour honeyed tea into pretty tea cups and serve fried ham and eggs and soft biscuits. “What’s all this for?”

“A princess always has breakfast in bed,” Mr. Graves murmurs, leaning in to nuzzle at the curve of Credence’s throat, smirking as Credence feels another blush coming on. “Yes, there’s my favorite shade of pink.”

“Stop,” whispers Credence unconvincingly, smiling with pleasure, his lower lip trapped between his sharp teeth.

“Never,” Mr. Graves murmurs, dark liquid eyes soft with a warmth Credence knows isn’t just lust. It’s fondness.

They eat a lazy breakfast curled up together under the covers, as Mr. Graves pushes sweet ripe strawberries and raspberries to Credence’s lips and brushes the crumbs from his chin with gentle swipes of his thumb. It feels luxurious, something Credence might've felt guilty about in a past life, but he can't feel like a glutton or a sinner when he has perfect Mr. Graves wrapping thick arms around him as they eat.

Mr. Graves leaves Credence alone in bed soon after breakfast, shushing him gently with a soft kiss as he pulls on jeans and a plain shirt to do ‘some shopping’.

“I could come with,” says Credence with some frustration, twisting onto his side to look up at him. The point of the whole weekend is spending time with Mr. Graves and it makes his stomach twist up in knots to think his man is eager to leave him for chores or errands.

“But it wouldn't be a surprise if you came with,” purrs Mr. Graves, eyes glinting as he pats Credence's bum mischievously.

Credence gives a soft noise of surprise at the little grope, blushing sunburn red across the strip of his nose and cheeks. “What are you up to?” he asks softly, resting his hands on the broad, strong chest.

“That's for me to know, you to find out.” Mr. Graves smirks, but for all his posturing, it takes him more than ten minutes to actually leave. He keeps getting caught up in Credence's goodbye kisses, turning them languid and smoldering, and nearly has to be prodded out the door. Even then, he only leaves because Credence laughs and dodges his wanting grip.

“Go on. Get me my surprise,” he says on a sudden burst of confidence, lashes trembling at his sheer inexperience with flirting.

Mr. Graves grins widely and returns in the early afternoon with a large pink-striped shopping bag. Credence eyes it warily. It’s huge, nearly twice as wide as him.

“You didn't actually have to get me anything,” he says softly. “I was just joking.”

Graves makes a soft noise of disagreement. “But I wanted to surprise my sweet boy.”

He hands it to Credence, who peers curiously inside to find a tissue-wrapped bundle that he lifts out of the bag and opens with trembling fingers. He gasps when he finds gorgeous silks and intricate laces. He finds bras and bralettes and panties and negligees and a tiny short skirt made of lacy pink ruffles that looks like a sweet confection.

“Oh,” Credence breathes, overwhelmed.

“Do you like them?” Mr. Graves asks and Credence stares disbelievingly at him.

“These are for me?” he asks wonderingly, touching his collarbone softly in disbelief; he has to be sure. He loves them all so much, he barely knows where to look first, which to try first.

“Of course,” Mr. Graves replies, indulgent. “They're all for you, princess,” he says, selecting a translucent cream negligee for Credence.

The soft chiffon is whisper smooth, glides weightless like foam as it settles against Credence's skin, a feather soft touch that has his nipples tightening into hard little buds and his cock filling again, jutting up obscenely from the short ruffled hem. The negligee is later hiked up over Credence's trembling thighs as Mr. Graves slides thick and hot back inside him, where he's still wet and open from the night before.

Credence wears nothing but the pretty things all weekend, showing off for his Mr. Graves who watches him with feral hungry eyes and pounces when his restraint runs out. His fingers press eagerly into Credence's soft milky thighs as he pushes aside lacy fabrics to take him against the couch, on their bed, in the shower.

It always ends with Credence mewling softly, his thighs a puddle of cream, streaking down his legs in little rivulets. It becomes tiring to clean up when Mr. Graves keeps nudging apart his legs and settling needily between, insatiable, as Credence gasps, desperate from soft caresses turned filthy. The feel of silk and lace against his skin make him all the more sensitive.

On one occasion, Mr. Graves fucks him hard and fast splayed over the dining room table as the dishes Credence was trying to set rattle on the wooden surface, Credence keening wildly, absolutely devastated. By the end, Mr. Graves barely has to touch his full cock to have Credence falling into orgasm.

Mr. Graves drives him home late Sunday night, and Credence walks up his front steps on shaking colt legs and feeling deliciously sore, sad to have to go home. He wishes fervently they could’ve had more days together, but it seems as though no amount of time can ever be enough.

Tina invites him over after school on Monday to tell him all about the trip, hands him a bobble head clumsily wrapped in brown paper and tells Credence the little doll looks just like him. He smiles and accepts the gift, it's very sweet of her, but his stomach twists up in knots now that she's back and the blissful little bubble he and Mr. Graves built is gone, burst and dissipated.

It's an awkward dinner that night, Tina unnoticing as she chatters away, telling them about Jacob getting frightened by a large spider they found in the hotel lobby and how Newt came to the rescue. “Newt scooped it up with his bare hands!” she exclaims, voice filled with wonder.

Credence nods blankly and tries not to look over at Mr. Graves too often. He blushes remembering what they did on the very same table they're eating at just a day ago. He squirms a little, and that just makes it worse as he feels the slip of his favorite pink lacy panties between his thighs.

“That's very brave of him,” Mr. Graves mutters absently, a brittle tense smile tightening the corners of his mouth as he picks at his food. Credence longs to massage away the tension in those broad shoulders, to kiss away the handsome crease between Mr. Graves’s brow. “Can you please pass the salt, princess?”

Credence doesn't realize he and Tina had reached for the salt at the same time until his fingers brush against hers and he jerks his hand back quickly. He drops the shaker, cheeks heating up burgundy when he realizes Tina and Mr. Graves are both staring at him.

“S-sorry,” Credence stammers, wishing he could sink into the floor and disappear. “It was closer to me so I reached for it—”

Tina shakes her head and glares at her dad, barely paying any attention to Credence. She practically throws the salt at her father, slumping back into her seat with a huff. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that, dad? _Ugh_!”

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” Mr. Graves mutters, pressing a hand against his forehead and Credence wants to _die._


	6. Chapter 6

It’s a relief when Tina finally breaks up with him in March.

They’ve been spending less and less time together since her return from the overnight trip. Every time Tina cancels their plans, Credence sighs in relief and the perpetual knot in his stomach loosens ever so slightly.

One morning, Tina catches him in the hallway outside of their physics class. “I have to talk to you after school, okay?” she asks tearfully, nose already reddening, and with his heart in his throat, Credence knows what's coming.

Part of him is glad the farce is over, that he no longer has to pretend to like Tina romantically. But another part of him panics. This means he won't see Mr. Graves anymore on a regular basis. Their daily dinners will be a thing of the past. What if Mr. Graves forgets about him, or decides he's not worth the effort or time anymore? Maybe the man only wanted him because he was… he was _convenient._

Even thinking those thoughts make his throat tighten with terror. He finds himself shaking a little as they walk together to Tina’s home, Tina making no attempt to hold his hand for once. Credence focuses on slow deep breaths as Tina unlocks the front door and leads him up to her bedroom, this time not smirking mischievously or touching his arm or trying to peck his mouth.

They're sitting on her bed when she tells him she thinks they should break up. “We can still be friends,” Tina says as she rubs her hands over her puffy-red eyes and pink-blotched cheeks. “Nothing has to change!” she insists, hiccoughing on a fresh wave of new tears. “We've always been better as friends anyways and I love you, Credence. I'm just not _in_ love with you.”

“Okay, Tina,” he replies softly, patting her gently on the shoulder, vaguely wishing she would stop crying. He feels mostly empty and tired. “Of course we’ll still be friends.”

“You can still come over whenever you like,” she adds in a tremulous wail. “We can still do homework together and study together. You can still hang out with dad. I know you and him are finally getting along, and he seems so much happier nowadays with you around.”

Credence chokes on nothing at her words, and he has to clap his hand over his mouth to keep from spilling the truth and begging for forgiveness. He coughs, knowing he’s blushing a deep strawberry red, unsure of how to reply. “I—,” he coughs again. “It's fine, Tina. Really.”

“T-there's something else I should probably tell you, Credence,” Tina mumbles, wringing her hands in her lap. He patiently waits for her to continue, despite the dread rising in his belly. “I...” She takes a deep breath before continuing, “I think I like Newt.”

The relief at her confession washes over him like a wave. Credence isn't sure what he was expecting her to say but his nerves were gnawing at his insides and he had been so, so afraid she somehow knew about him and Mr. Graves. But her admitted attraction to Newt comes as absolutely no surprise. She hasn’t been the most subtle about it at all, gushing about him over dinners and texting him almost constantly underneath her desk during precalculus. Credence almost laughs before catching himself. He sighs softly and pulls her closer against his side, nearly delirious with the feeling of relief and something that feels like happiness for Tina.

“It's okay, Tina,” he reassures her, pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. “It really is. I think you and Newt would make a much better couple.”

“I just feel so awful!” She turns big, watery eyes up at Credence. “I—I’ve liked him for a long time, Credence. And—and when we went on that trip… h-he kissed me! I'm a horrible person! I feel like I’ve been lying so much to you about everything—”

“Oh, Tina,” says Credence softly. “Sometimes…” he pauses and thinks. “Sometimes, we just can’t help what we feel. I don’t blame you for liking Newt, or even kissing him. I think… I think if anything you were just lying to yourself about… about what you wanted? Maybe you thought it was me. But it was really Newt all along.”

“Maybe,” whispers Tina, wiping her eyes with the tissue Credence hands her. “You’re—you’re really understanding about all this.”

“I kind of knew at Queenie’s birthday party,” he admits and squirms a little. “I just—I just didn’t want to say anything. I—I wasn’t hurt or anything, because… because I kind of liked someone else too.”

Tina blinks in surprise, lashes spiky with tears. “You… like someone?” she asks curiously and Credence flushes. “Who is she?” She looks eager for details and Credence laughs nervously, sheepish.

“Can’t really tell you,” he admits. “B-but. Um. It’s, um. They’re not a she.”

Tina looks at him for a moment, a bit confused, a little crease between her brow before a sudden realization makes her mouth drop and a light come into her eyes. “Oh! You—? And you’re—Oh!”

“I didn’t mean to lie,” says Credence bashfully. “But. I wasn’t really ready to accept it yet when I asked you out. And I just wanted to make you feel better. You had been crying about something…”

“Oh, that day was a mess,” admits Tina, her cheeks pink, and not from tears. “Newt had asked Leta to prom with a bunch of roses outside the auditorium and I was _right there._ And. Well. You were so sweet in class and asked me out for ice cream and I thought you were the solution. Turns out the solution isn’t a person.”

Credence smiles, a strange feeling of pride warming his belly. “I’m glad.” He gives her shoulder a nudge with his own. “No more crying now, okay? You’re my best friend, Tina. You always will be.”

Her expression crumples, but she swallows back the tears and nods. “I’m so happy!” And he sighs, but lets her soak the shoulder of his shirt a bit more, smiling to himself a little. He dares to think maybe things won’t turn out as horrible as he always thought they would.

…

Mr. Graves has a pool just like Queenie's, a large rectangular inground enclosed in a glass house. The stars glimmer overhead in the dark night sky like tiny diamond dots, the moon a pale silver sickle that barely casts any light through the glass panes. The pool is lit by underwater lights, dimly glowing little orbs sunken into the tile underfoot that cast a soft pale glow in the dark. The water is the same aquamarine bleach jewel blue, warm when Credence dips his toe in and swirls his foot to create little eddies and waves.

Somehow, when Mr. Graves says from next to him, “I’ll teach you how to swim,” it feels as far from Theseus’s poor attempt at flirting as can be.

Credence looks up at him in surprise, and he flushes like he's so apt to do around his man. Mr. Graves has his arms crossed comfortably, all thick biceps and strong forearms, already dressed in long black swim trunks and bare chested, the dark curls on his chest making Credence shiver.

“I-I don’t have a swimsuit,” Credence protests.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Mr. Graves says with a bit of a teasing grin. “I got you a little something along with your pretties.” His words don’t really help Credence’s blush, but he allows Mr. Graves to tug him into the little changing shack next to the house, gasping when a swimsuit is offered.

It’s incredibly pretty, a lovely babygirl pink with soft little ruffles on the bottoms, and Credence shakes as he takes it from Mr. Graves.

“For me?” he asks, a bit disbelieving.

Mr. Graves smiles indulgently, reeling Credence in closer. “Didn’t I ever tell you?” he asks softly. “Everything I give to you, every gift and token and kiss, they’re all yours. Never question that, Credence. I’m glad to give you these things, so long as they make you happy.”

Credence blushes but nods, holding Mr. Graves’ hand tightly for a moment before slipping into the little shack to change. The bottoms cup his bum sweetly, Credence a little shy to come out right away when Mr. Graves calls for him, but his coyness falls away when he sees the heat in his man’s eyes as he steps out.

“You like?” Credence asks, doing a little twirl.

“I love,” corrects Graves, even as he leads Credence to the edge of the pool.

Maybe it’s the way he smiles reassuringly at Credence, large palm held up for Credence to slip his hand into, to be pulled gently up and close. Maybe it's the way he kisses Credence softly first, a sweet chaste close-mouthed press of lips that has Credence hooked and willing to follow anywhere Mr. Graves wishes to go. Maybe it's the way he beckons Credence into the water, walking backwards into the pool as he leads him by the hand, mesmerized by the cyan ripples of light dancing across Mr. Graves’ skin.

“I’ve got you,” Mr. Graves tells him quietly, eyes glowing blue-hazel from the water. The dim lighting softens his edges, shades the planes of his chest with soft blue shadows and beryl light, and Credence is more than a little entranced, his breath catching in his throat. But Credence isn’t scared.

“The water’s warm,” says Credence bashfully as he begins to walk through the shallow end, the water soft and swirling pretty blue against his thighs.

“I put the heat on. Didn't want my baby getting cold on me.” Mr. Graves smiles charmingly, drawing Credence close. “Come down here.”

Credence gives a soft little gasp as he splashes down, the water slapping at his shoulders and chest wetly as if he's in a bath. Mr. Graves pulls him carefully into the deeper end, and soon the water is up to his chest, and that same panicky feeling he felt with Theseus is stretching out his rib-cage like a rubber balloon.

But Mr. Graves just smiles down at him softly and sweeps Credence easily into his arms, and it is so strange, Credence clinging to Mr. Graves’ strong neck, feeling weightless as a feather with the water supporting him. “Oh,” he whispers, a little shocked.

“See?” murmurs Mr. Graves, swirling them about in the water gently. “Isn't this nice?”

Credence nods his head shakily, looking up at his Mr. Graves in awe, delighted to see the man’s ears go pink.

“Don't look at me like that,” he chides gently. “Anyone could teach you.”

“Theseus couldn't,” says Credence bravely, squeaking a little when he feels Mr. Graves’ arms go tight around him. “But it's true! I didn't feel safe with him. But with you…” He smiles brightly, nuzzling against Mr. Graves’ chest happily. “I would trust you with my life.”

“That's—” Mr. Graves looks a little stunned, but Credence just plays shyly with a lock of wet hair that insists on dangling in front of his eyes. Mr. Graves brushes Credence’s drenched curls out of his face and kisses him softly, brief but sweet and loving. “Every time I think I know you, Credence, you surprise me. You’re incredible. You make me feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

Mr. Graves has been infinitely more relaxed since Credence and Tina broke up. With Tina spending the night at Queenie's, Credence feels like he and Mr. Graves are the only ones in the whole wide world as they float together in the water, with all the time in the world.

They're unhurried when they kiss again, another tender press of lips that becomes heated when Credence trails his hands along Mr. Graves' chest, wanting closer, wanting more.

Mr. Graves pulls back, sighing softly and smiling when Credence squirms a little in protest.

“I love you.”

Credence stills. He looks up, almost unsure that those words are real, have been spoken out loud and aren't just a figment of Credence's wishful imagination. But Mr. Graves is looking at Credence sweetly, eyes crinkling with his wide smile, swaying them slow and gentle in the warm water.

“Y-you do?” Credence whispers and his words seem to echo, thundering in his ears. The stardust comes back, filling up his rib-cage, coating his heart and lungs and throat.

Mr. Graves gathers him close until they're pressed together again. “Yes, princess. I love you so fucking much,” he murmurs against Credence's cheek, and Credence feels as though he could just melt into the water. “How you blush whenever I kiss you. How you hug me whenever you can. When you smile at me across the room. Everything about you.”

“I-I love you too, Mr. Graves,” Credence says, hardly daring to believe any of this isn't just a sweet dream, ready to dissipate if he does or says the wrong thing.

“I think it's about time you started calling me Percival, hmm?” Mr. Graves says. “I’ve always wanted to hear you call me by my name.”

Credence's eyes widen. Somehow calling Mr. Graves by his first name feels strangely intimate, much more so than anything they've already done together, even confessions of love. It feels like what they have is now something more than real, something more than precious.

“Okay, Percival,” Credence murmurs, and he is so, so happy, joy bubbling up inside him like a fount of champagne.

 _Percival_ is the only word Credence knows anymore when he’s spread out on one of the lounge chairs by the pool as his man slides thick and hot and hard into him. His bikini top has been tossed somewhere to the side, bottoms tugged to the side as a slick cock fucks him full, Percival’s lips sucking hotly on Credence’s plump nipples. He can do little more than hold tight to Mr. Graves’ shoulders, crying out in pleasure as the familiar well of warm tears fills up in his throat and trickle over the curve of his cheeks, overcome by the sensation of _Percival, Percival, Percival_ all around, inside, and on top of him.

This time, he’s free to say it, knows it’s welcome. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” Credence gasps, and hears the answering rumble Percival presses into his neck.

“Everything about you is so beautiful, baby.”

Credence’s mouth drops open as Percival palms his cock, the blushing cherry head peeking up over the waistband of his bikini, Percival stroking long and soft and slow.

“P-Percival!” he keens softly and climaxes, thighs trembling as he spills wet over his smooth belly, spoiling his pretty swimsuit, pearly white glistening on his heaving navel.

“There's my good princess,” Percival growls, fucking in even faster, rutting between Credence's thighs so good.

“I can't, too much, so good—” gasps Credence, shaking and clutching at his Mr. Graves, mewling thoughtlessly when Percival pushes his knees to his chest and hips rolling deep and fast. “Yes! Yes, yes, plea—” He chokes on a silent scream, pleasure shuddering through him so intense he thinks he might’ve fallen into the sky, lost among the stars.

 _“Shit!”_ Credence hears Percival’s exclamation, feels his man shake as Credence clenches sweetly around him. Credence feels frantic kisses pressed to his lips and cheeks and forehead, big hands cupping his neck. “Come back to me, baby.”

“Percival,” whispers Credence shakily, eyes wide. “I—I think I nearly blacked out.”

He feels Percival’s laughter against his neck, lips finding his temple as his man whispers, “You precious boy. I love you, so much.”

…

Prom is on a muggy night in June.

Credence is already dressed in his borrowed tux, his hair tamed as much as he is able in his attempt to wrangle his unruly curls. There's not much more he needs to do, so he sits on the edge of Queenie's bed and watches her and Tina flitter around the room, hopping into their long slinky gowns and painting their faces with makeup. He watches with growing envy as Queenie swipes glittery roses and champagnes onto her lids, coral on her cheeks, and cherry red on her lips, wishing he could be half as pretty as her.

Queenie catches his eye in the reflection of her vanity and winks, beckoning him over with a wave of her slim hand. Thinking maybe she needs a hand with putting on a necklace or doing up the row of buttons on the back of her dress, Credence quickly obeys.

He's surprised when she pushes him into her vacated chair in front of the vanity, tilting his chin up with her palm.

“Oh honey,” she says, smiling brightly. “We can't have you going to prom looking like this. What would your date say? I'll fix you right up.”

“But, I don't have a dat—” Queenie shushes him before Credence can finish his sentence and sets to work with a brush in one hand and her eyeshadow palette in the other.

The reflection Credence finds in the mirror when Queenie finishes is one he barely recognizes. She's somehow tamed his hair, softened his curls until they frame his face in soft shining waves instead of their usual messy dull tangle. There's a glossy red tint on his lips that accentuates his pout and a soft hint of kohl around his eyes, a subtle blur that makes his eyes doe-wide and bright. His eyelashes have been combed through with mascara, the ink making them even longer and sweetly curled and Credence feels them bat against his cheekbones when he blinks in surprise. Queenie has also done something with his cheeks to make them less sunken and razor sharp, softer now and infinitely sweeter.

“O-oh,” Credence murmurs, barely able to believe he's looking at his own reflection. Queenie has somehow made him _pretty._

“He's going to be so pleased when he sees you,” Queenie whispers into his ear. Credence is confused and wants to ask _who_ she's talking about but she only giggles and pecks his cheek, shushing him softly again with a sly, “you'll see.”

“You look amazing,” Tina tells him as she comes to stand behind him after Queenie floats away.

“T-thanks,” Credence replies, trying not to blush. “I have nothing on you,” he says, meaning it when he sees how beautiful Tina looks in her long sequined and fringed blue gown. “You're gorgeous. Newt’s a lucky guy.”

Tina's face softens and she looks almost sad. “You should've invited your guy, Credence,” but she's barely finished her sentence when he starts shaking his head.

“No,” he tells her, smiling brightly, despite the sadness that wells up inside of him. Oh, how Credence wishes he could've gone to prom on Percival’s arm. What a sight his man would make dressed up in a tuxedo and polished wingtips. “It's not possible.”

“You'd be surprised!” sing songs Queenie from his other side as she swipes a shimmering gloss over her lips, but Credence just rolls his eyes and casts one last look into the mirror. He smiles wistfully. Percival would've loved him like this, soft and feminine.

The school gymnasium has been converted into a glitzy, sparkly neon dance floor with streamers hanging from the rafters and silvery balloons floating through the air. Credence can barely believe their drab basketball court could be made to look so lovely with the right lighting and decorations. Queenie clings to Jacob’s arm and coos over his bow tie that matches her dress while Tina fusses and fixes Newt’s messy bangs with her fingers. Credence doesn't even mind being left out, too busy admiring the pretty decorations the prom committee had so painstakingly designed.

But he's eventually tugged over to a table, Queenie giggling as she sits next to him, her eyes positively glittering. She leans in conspiratorially and tells him, “We’re all going to an after party at Henry’s, and I know that’s not your kind of thing, hun. But I’m just letting you know we’re all going to stay over at his house and have breakfast after, so you and your sweetheart have the whole night, okay? Enjoy yourselves.”

Credence opens his mouth to protest, still confused. “I—”

Queenie takes his hand in hers and squeezes it once. She looks pointedly up towards the far corner and Credence follows her gaze.

Standing in the corner talking to one of the other parent chaperones is Credence’s Percival, looking resplendent and devastatingly handsome in a sleek black tux and polished shoes.

A small pack of giggling girls by the punch bowl are whispering to each other and pointing him out, fluttering their eyes and ruffling their skirts, but Percival doesn't spare them a glance. No. He's looking right at Credence, half-lidded eyes and a smile curling his mouth, and Credence can barely breathe, happy tears filling his eyes and he shakes a little as he breathes a soft, “Oh.”

Queenie’s laugh catches his attention and he turns big doe eyes up her, mouth trembling, desperately searching for an excuse.

“I didn't leave my lipgloss at your house, Cree,” she says, and she sounds only the slightest bit smug.

“But—you…” Credence gapes at her. “I-I thought—why would you help me?”

“Oh, please. Everyone and their mother could tell Tina was sweet on Newt. The only reason she was with you was because she wanted to get over him. No offense, hon.” She winks, her champagne colored lid sparkling at him.

“It's okay,” says Credence in a daze. He should probably look away now, he's been staring way far long to be polite, but he can't. Not when everything feels like the best kind of surreal dream, and Percival is right in front of him. “How did you even know he was coming?”

Queenie clicks her tongue chidingly. “You forget I'm on the prom committee. Who did you think picked out these magnificent rose gold tablecloths?” She grins, smoothing her hands over the tabletop in front of her. “Now if you'll excuse me, I believe Jacob wants to dance.”

Credence smiles as she slips away onto the dance floor, Jacob grinning up at her with big, moony eyes as a bright, cheery song starts. Newt and Tina follow their example, and Credence doesn’t mean to, doesn’t even think badly of it, but he truly expects to sit silently by and watch his beautiful friends grin and laugh and clap their hands without him. But soon Queenie waltzes by and drags him out onto the floor despite his protests, and before he knows it, Queenie and Tina are shimmying up to him and showing him how to roll his hips as loud bass pounds through the air.

Privately, he knows he wouldn’t have had as nearly as much fun if Percival hadn’t been there with his ever watchful eyes and his calm, stern visage reassuring Credence that yes, he was safe, and yes, Percival was right there, waiting for him. But Credence's mood drops immediately when he returns to their table as a slow song comes on, and his friends pair up, leaving him melancholic that he's unable to have this dance with Percival.

Credence surveys the room, hoping to at least be able to see Percival even if he isn't able to dance with him. His heart sinks when his eyes finally land on him, to find Percival on the dance floor laughing and swaying with one of the other parent chaperones. It reminds him sharply that he has no claim over Percival—Mr. Graves at all.

She's beautiful, Credence thinks, sleek curls and bright eyes and gorgeous mocha skin that practically glows against her fuchsia dress. She's as far from Credence as one can get, and with Mr. Graves, they're turning heads as they glide together on the dance floor. They're clearly the most stunning couple in the room. Credence briefly wonders with a sharp stab of pain if this is what Mr. Graves really wants and if Credence is just a passing fancy.

Feeling like all the air has been sucked out of the room with the walls closing in, Credence jumps out of his chair so fast, he nearly knocks it down. He hurries out of the gym as fast as his legs can carry him, beelining for the nearest bathroom. He's leaning over the sink, trying his best not to smudge his eye makeup when Mr. Graves finds him.

“Credence?”

Credence takes a deep shuddering breath, barely wanting to turn around even when he feels Mr. Graves’ chest press up against his back.

“Baby, what's wrong?” Credence can feel the rumble of Mr. Graves’ voice along his spine and he instinctively shivers, even when he feels the overwhelming urge to cry.

“I-it's nothing,” he tries unconvincingly. “Y-you should go back to the dance. Your dance partner is probably waiting for you.”

“My dan—” Mr. Graves cuts himself off, swearing softly. Gently but firmly, he steers Credence's shoulders to turn until they're face to face. He cups his broad palms gently around Credence's face, his thumb stroking along the line of his jaw. “That was just an old friend of mine who insists on sharing a dance every year we volunteer to chaperone. She's happily married, and I'm happily taken. By you. Oh darling, were you jealous?” Mr. Graves asks, smiling softly.

Credence sniffs, turning red and he feels ashamed with himself and his own wild assumptions. “Of course not.”

Mr. Graves— _Percival_ , Credence reminds himself sharply—hums as he leans in to press kisses along the line of Credence's jaw. “Shame,” he says mildly, nibbling at a spot right below Credence's ear. Credence gasps, eyes fluttering shut as he tilts his head back to give Percival better access.

“I like it when you stare at me across the room like that,” Percival continues, his voice a deep rumbling baritone. His hands move down to cradle Credence’s hips, pushing up beneath his rented tux to touch skin and pulls him close until they’re pressed flush. Percival’s thumbs are tracing little circles on his crest of his hipbone, breath hitching when he finds the edge of Credence’s lace panties. “Like you just want to stalk over there and tear me away so you can have me all to yourself. Just like how I want to tear _you_ away and have you all to myself. _God_ , you look so beautiful tonight. It's been taking everything for me to not just drag you away.”

Credence moans softly, arching his neck in offering as Percival’s kisses trail downwards towards his throat. “So let's go,” he manages to say thickly. “Let's leave.”

“I don't want to take you away from your prom, princess,” is whispered softly against his skin. Credence can feel Percival suckling at the sensitive skin of his neck and Credence mewls a little in pleasure, too far gone to even protest or worry about love bites and bruises.

“I don't want to be here i-if I can't dance with you,” he admits softly, finally. He feels Percival pull away a little, his strong hand cupping his nape. “I was… I was jealous because she could dance with you and I couldn't.” He feels the hot tears pooling, but he bites them back because he refuses to let these cold, creeping insecurities ruin his night. “I was jealous that she can be with you whenever she wants, and no one says anything, but I… We have to hide. And I have to be alone.”

It's his greatest fear, a beautiful woman sweeping in and stealing his Percival away, leaving Credence unsure and alone, watching his man be happy with someone else, someone who can be everything Credence can't.

“Credence, look at me.” Percival sounds so serious that Credence looks up slowly. Percival’s gaze is dark and serious. “I don’t like it anymore than you do. Having to hide. But I promise as soon as we're able, we won't hide anymore. I want to show you off to the world, yell from the mountains how much I love you. I know it’s difficult, but this is worth it. Just bear with me a little more, darling.”

Credence doesn't quite know what to say to that. He brushes his hand across his wet cheeks, surely ruining all of Queenie's hard work and says tremulously around a shy smile, “You're ruining my makeup, Percival. I can't be seen like this. We have to go.”

Percival breathes a shaking laugh and takes Credence by the arm. “In that case, my princess’s chariot awaits.”

They manage to slip out of the bathroom unnoticed, Credence watching his friends giggle and dance across the room. Queenie catches his eye and winks, offering a small wave from the dance floor when she spies them heading out the gym doors.

Credence smiles a little when Percival opens the passenger door to his sleek Corvette, as chivalrous as a knight, treating him like a princess. Once Percival is behind the wheel, Credence flips up the mirror and blots at his eyes, blinking in surprise that nothing has really smudged besides his lipgloss. “Oh!”

“You look perfect, Credence,” Percival laughs softly in his ears, sliding his arm around his boy’s shoulders. “Don't worry so much.”

“I don't mean to,” says Credence, squirming, embarrassed. “The whole point of this makeup was to look nice for you. It would've been ruined if I already look a mess before we even had our dance.”

“I still love you no matter how you look, and you look beautiful,” Percival tells him.

Credence smiles foolishly when Percival leans over and brushes his lips over his cheekbone, lingering slowly. But when he moves to kiss at Credence's mouth, Credence laughs and shoves him away a little.

“Start the car, Percy,” he says, grinning teasingly.

Percival puts the radio on and the top of the car down when they get on the highway, letting the warm summer air rifle through their hair as they speed along the road as music streams from the speakers. Credence laughs delightedly, throwing his hands in the air to feel the wind drag through his fingers. When he closes his eyes, he almost feels as though he's flying.

They're both wind-tousled by the time Percival maneuvers the Corvette down a small dirt road and pulls up to a little outcropping perched over the edge of the city. The small clearing is overgrown with weeds and wild grass, but it leaves an unobstructed view of the Los Angeles valley, spread out before them in a sprawling stretch.

Credence clambers out of the car and walks up to the edge of the outlook, right up against the safety fence to look down at the bright glittering lights twinkling below. He feels as though he's looking down at a sea of stars, vast and endless. Faintly, he can hear the strained sound of the radio, tuned to a top forties station currently playing a ballad. Everything feels ethereal and surreal, tranquil like a dream, and Credence is only interrupted from his musings when Percival slides up behind him, warm and solid.

“It's beautiful,” Credence breathes, turning slightly to look at him.

“Yes,” Percival replies, not looking at the valley. “Beautiful.”

Credence laughs, even as he feels warm heat creeping into his cheeks. “You're getting lame, Percival.” He gets a peck on the corner of his mouth for his quip as Percival hums slightly.

“And you, my love, are getting cheeky.”

Credence beams guilelessly up at him until Percival smiles and presses another kiss to his cheek, his nose, and finally his mouth. Credence hums happily into the kiss, delighting in the intimacy as he brings his arms up around Percival's neck to pull him even closer, until he's slotted between Credence's legs, pressing him up against the safety rails.

Credence vaguely feels as though he could fall at any moment, tumble down into the Milky Way swirling and twinkling below, but he feels so _safe_ and secure in Percival's arms. He knows Percival would never let him fall, but his stomach swoops and plummets anyways, a sweet thrilling descent that feels a lot like flying, like wind beneath his fingers, like stardust between his ribs.

The radio is playing a new song when they pull away, a sweet love song that starts with a lulling drum beat before it breaks into a duet of sultry vocals. The song is alluring, the lyrics drawing him in until all Credence feels is the pull of the summer breeze combing through his hair and Percival’s intoxicating presence at his side as the voices croon, smokey rasping on the radio.

 _“There's no way for us to come away ‘cause boy, we’re gold. Boy, we’re gold._ ”

Percival steps back slightly and offers him his hand. “May I have this dance?” he asks, eyes twinkling brighter than the stars below, and far more entrancing.

Credence goes, feeling slightly hypnotized as he takes Percival’s hand, shivering at the familiar sensation of rough-warmth that never fails to make his heart beat faster between his ribs.

“... _and a lust for life keeps us alive_ …”

Percival scoops him up in his arms, hands a firm weight at Credence's hips as they sway slowly to the soft tune. Credence finds himself humming along with the duet in the song, singing along with them as he moves with Percival, trusting him to lead. He has no space to feel self conscious of his two left feet, of his lack of rhythm, not when his chest is all filled up with breathless joy and endless love. Everything feels enrobed in magic.

 _“There's no more night, blue skies forever_.”

All Credence knows is the narrow world where Percival is slotted so sweetly against him, and where their cheeks press together. There is nothing better than this feeling, of simply being in Percival's arms as they dance on the edge of the world, tipped over the ocean of sky.

Credence turns in Percival’s arms feeling weightless as he sings along, rapturous with wonder, _“T_ _here's no stopping now, green lights forever_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks! We know everyone expected drama, but this fandom deserves softness and fluff! Thanks so much to everyone who supported this fic, it's been a great ride. We love you all!

**Author's Note:**

> Follow us on tumblr if you enjoyed!  
> [dontyoudarestiles.tumblr.com](http://dontyoudarestiles.tumblr.com)  
> [pineapplebread.tumblr.com](http://pineapplebread.tumblr.com)
> 
> Special thanks to:  
> \- [pangaeastarseed](http://pangaeastarseed.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for their amazing fanart, which you all can check out [HERE](http://pangaeastarseed.tumblr.com/post/161656941416/pineapplebread-dontyoudarestiles-bc-boy-were) (http://pangaeastarseed.tumblr.com/post/161656941416/pineapplebread-dontyoudarestiles-bc-boy-were)
> 
> \- [clockhearted-crocodile](https://clockhearted-crocodile.tumblr.com/) for their gorgeous photoset [HERE](https://clockhearted-crocodile.tumblr.com/post/162487674008/boy-were-gold-finally-got-around-to-making-a-fic)  
> (https://clockhearted-crocodile.tumblr.com/post/162487674008/boy-were-gold-finally-got-around-to-making-a-fic)
> 
> \- [americanmuses](http://americanmuses.tumblr.com) for this beautiful photoset [HERE](https://americanmuses.tumblr.com/post/169896230750/cree-and-percy-based-off-of-the-picture-book)  
> (https://americanmuses.tumblr.com/post/169896230750/cree-and-percy-based-off-of-the-picture-book)


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